The atmosphere imbued with persistent but small flurries for most of the afternoon, I was on my way to Z&H after an annoyingly long day when I looked down at my phone to send a text message and— behold!— when I raised my eyes the snow had somehow been amplified to those slow and large dandruff-like flakes that impair vision past five feet of distance. All in the space of two minutes.

Anyways, it was cold.

It being cold, and Keith being sick (“I am sick!” he would moan, his breathing sounding increasingly like Darth Vader’s), he, Peter, and I ordered takeout from The Snail for dinner instead of going to the north side as originally planned. I finished half of my noodles, became full, and afterwards spent a good portion of my evening wondering to myself how I would ever find a job.

…

Even with life on the upswing, I often fantasize about being someone else. You know, just to see for once how other people feel about themselves. Me? My resume, for instance, contains no untruths, but often when I hand it to people I am tempted to apologize, “Yes, yes, don’t be deceived by the person you see in front of you, she is capable of living up to the paper version in your hands, if you give her the chance to prove it.” My vision for an ideal world consists entirely of sincere people, incapable of lying.