So, say you decide to go downstairs and get a pop, and as you’re standing there waiting for the elevator, you can’t help thinking about how the Weakerthans are most certainly going to play Virtue the Cat Explains Her Departure tonight, and how there’s no possible way you’ll be able to keep from bawling your head off, especially with this and this in too-recent memory, so then as you’re wiping your eyes in the elevator, you get eyelashes in not one but both of them, threatening to poke your contacts either onto the floor or up inside your brain, and the lobby is full of lawyers who you can’t even see, because you’re stumbling and trying to find the Coke Zero button blind?
I hate that. Jenni