My roommate Rob
and I went to the local T. B. O'McFlynagin's for dinner. One of the TVs
hanging from the ceiling was tuned to the local
station and what was
a type of Real World
for the high
I found it amuzing at first, watching teenage angst from a decade (or so)
down the road until the show focused on
who seemed to be in a straight jacket while talking about things.
It was hard to tell if he was upset or not, as the volume was turned off,
but closed captions were turned on. But he seemed to be taking it all in
stride, like wearing a straight jacket is normal for kids today, especially
ones that take Ridalin, Prozac and other jagged little pills.
“My god,” I said. “I'm almost glad I'm not a kid today.”
“Me too,” said Rob.
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