The bass from "This Is How We Do It" rumbles so hard against the window of my subcompact that I can barely hear the static on the news, but the local pump prices are loud enough. I stared at the sign until my eyes hurt, wondering how we’re expected to survive when gas has spiked all the way to $1.15 a gallon.
Everything feels way too crunk and chaotic lately, from the clicking of Pogs on the sidewalk to the unsettling talk of this new "Java" tech taking over our lives. I gripped my steering wheel, adjusted my plaid vest, and prayed the world would just slow down before we all went broke.
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