Writer, Faux Adult, Nervous Hamster
I had never even seen a money belt before, so I was somewhat disappointed when my dad presented me with something that looked like a deflated, flesh-toned fanny pack. "This is it?" I asked. "It doesn't have to be pretty, it just has to keep your passport safe."
"My fantasy begins in a dark bar. I’m with friends and currently on my second beer—enough to feel pleasantly buzzed, but not enough to start oversharing about my childhood. The music is loud and I see a man across the room. He glances at me, and then looks away. I take a sip of my beer. Then the song ends and the man across the room looks back at me and calls my name. It’s my turn for karaoke."
"I have no idea why I was assigned to work in the art room when I was hired on as a staff member. I have no obvious talent for art, I didn’t request it, and as I was only 18, I didn’t yet look like I’d completely given up on life (I think)."
"You are one sneeze away from total destruction."
