North Station

I am currently on the floor of North Station in Boston next to a trashcan eating McDonalds. I will be here for one more hour, and have been here for one prior- so basically I'm spending my life in North Station. There is a huge chance I will die here. I almost ate my own hand instead of paying for McDonalds because let's face it the economy is hard and I could spend that money on cheap booze. That my friend is a college life lesson: no matter how hungry you are you're better off eating your own hand then spending booze money. There is an exception though if you have traveled hours on a bus, after waking up in nothing but paint and having to walk home at 7 in the morning wearing clothes you think are yours but really aren't sure, then you fucking deserve McDonalds.

You also deserve a beating from someone with morals. This person with morals should also be a great companion in your search for your dignity. When looking for your dignity please also search for your hat, your subway pass, your college ID, and your jacket. Also try to remember if you wore underwear last night, because that's missing too.

Just snagged a spot on a bench, there's a stain on one side but things are still looking up. The place is clearing out which is basically a metaphor that I will be dying alone, in this station, I should have eaten my hand so that at my funeral my friends can use the booze money to drown their sorrows. There is good chance I will never stop regretting buying that 10-piece chicken nugget meal, with that horrible tasting lemonade. The only reason I got lemonade was because the lady at the counter refused to fill the cup with water- because I had to buy bottled water- and that my friend means that woman was a terrorist, and we do not negotiate with terrorists.

I really need to go buy my ticket. I'm sitting next to a guy who is dressed in mostly pink and has a DSW bag, I think we're friends and I can trust him. I believe too much in the good of people, there's a large chance this work will be lost when he runs away with my computer and sells it for meth, or more shoes.

Gooooood news everybody (read that in a Professor Farnsworth voice) HE WASN'T A METH ADDICT- Jury is still out on if he's a shoe addict, all signs point to yes. I thanked him for being a wonderful stranger and now I'm going to watch his stuff while he gets more fries because that shit, much like meth is addicting.

Also I'm wearing a lot of purple today (there's no doubt you're