across from me in a chair on the glued-down persian rug, as i sit here waiting around in the michigan union, is a very earnest girl with a very throaty voice. earlier i saw her flailing around with her luggage, which was a gigantic duffle bag by none other than vera bradley. i know the genuine article when i see it, my sister used to hustle that shit. she was also sporting, among other things, poorly-cared-for tattoos, ear plugs, and a green day hoodie. do people between the ages of twelve and thirty listen to green day? where have i been? now she and this dude with absurd facial hair and those suede slip-on merrell shoes are talking about "problem members" in co-ops and what to do about them.
as time goes by, the more humane and pragmatic dictatorships seem. for serious.
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