I almost died drinking the shellack from vending machines on my way to evening college classes after work, just so I could stay awake to listen to my English professor's (guy published a book of poetry and and thought he was something) lectures. And I felt so cheap: as if I needed to bring this up in confession to lift the stain of my perfidy from my soul. The memory of the horrible taste still make me shiver when I think about it.
Yeah, I liked good coffee before good coffee was cool. Kind of feel as if everyone has discovered my favorite little hole-in-the-wall restaurant, and now they've had to remodel and expand to meet the new demand, and have lost their original charm in the process, so the whole experience is overrun with people who don't appreciate the uniqueness of the original, and have trampled your pearl underfoot. If everyone is doing it, it's not my distinctive little thing anymore. Poor, poor me.
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