Writing’s On the Wall

Memory:

Sitting in my car at the Mesquite library, crying into my Schlotzky’s and Starbucks, which I’d gotten because the tiny break room was full of people and the only way I could survive that job was having an hour alone for lunch. Knowing I’d have to go back in to work soon. It was raining.

There was a period of several days during which I listened to nothing but this song on repeat. It has that perfect, aggressively melancholy sound/feel that my soul just seems to need sometimes . . . Like when I’m being crushed by a job that is the opposite of everything I need to function.

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