There's not many bright spots in my Dilbert-like lifestyle. Wake up, drinklessly blackout for 4 hours, make a rash lunch decision, blackout again, and go home. It's like a poorly run machine from 9-5. Few variables can really affect the day, lunch being an exception.
I've watched my fare share of television sitcoms and they all have that spot. You know what spot I'm talking about. That place where all the main characters assemble to shoot the shit is usually a diner where every waiter/waitress knows there name. I know it's lame, but I wanted that shit forever like a Drake song. A "Cheers" for Dub J/a place to walk in and have everybody literally thrilled to see me. I think I found it. Staring down the barrel of a quarter-life crisis, I fucking needed this. I needed the dude in the sub line to know I wanted the Italian sub with all the fixings, but with no god damn pickles. I needed the slight recognition that undoubtedly occurred because I'm black. As depressing as it sounds, random sub guy made me feel alive. It's cold, it's May, and I think my immune system took a hit because I have god damn allergies all of a sudden after not having them for 23 years.
It's the small victories these days.
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