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Probably Misplaced by Jesse Printer Friendly

I'm thinking of getting a tattoo. I'm thinking of getting a tattoo of a guy with a sweet face, dressed in engineering camouflage, with his hair parted down the middle who just got a tattoo and it made him cool.

Look at him... What a badass.

I've got to get a haircut. I need new shoes, something shiny, maybe those slip-ons I see people wear. Do they even make those in my size? Not boat shoes, though. Can't wear socks with those. I need to get some art or somethin' to cover up some of this white on my walls, something with style, something with pizazz. I should buy some groceries too. The soy sauce is getting lonely. That doesn't even belong in the refrigerator anyway. I know how it feels, little buddy.

I notice patterns in things. Life has a sort of rhythm that you can feel when you're walking down the street. With each step, there's a new person in front of you who barely knows what to think of themselves when they look up and see that you're looking right in their eyes. Where do they go, I wonder, when they shrink away from me like that? I probably need to stop looking so hard... but I can't. What if I see one one day? What if one of those shark-eyed girls looks at me and stops, and when I smile she says "Hey. I'm thinking of getting a tattoo."


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