I was up in the stacks shelving earlier, and one of the books was called Great First Lines. I opened it to a random page to stick my culprit-slip in, and it said, “Call me Ishmael.”
I said, “Well, fuck you, too.”
My head hurts and the fan is too noisy, and I’m feeling kind of resentful at the world in general. I am pretty sure that my Comm book’s unattractive orange color is deliberate and aggressive. The dorm’s dryer burnt the shirts I just bought this morning. On purpose.
I’ll show you, objects. I’ll show you all.