Another 14-hour day, and I was walking home. My feet hurt, the tie around my neck a constant irritation. I was preoccupied, thinking about what it means to exist.
Two white guys stumbled out of a bar and into my path. They're in their early twenties, dressed as b-ballers, and drunk or high or both. "Can you spare some change?" one asked me. "Sorry, no." I tried to be nice.
"You FAKER! You and your... BLUE SHIRT!"
Seriously? Is this my life?
I walked into a street sign.
"HA HA! That's the funniest thing I've ever seen! Hey look! Look!" His friend was now vomiting into the flowers in front of Just Desserts.
"FAKER!" I heard in the distance, as I disappeared into the darkness.