Sometimes when you are sick, you have fantasies. I’ll share one of them. I have wealthy friends who take note of my plight and If target had a bar my life would be perfect shirt. I order something that is well suited to my pescatarian palette while I dine in a bed of puffy pillows and chit chat about nothing whilst reveling in the ambiance. We finish with a nice dairy-free fruit smoothie and the restaurant allows us to nap in its courtyard. The other called me foolish. Yet, the other said I didn’t have a brain. Again, another guy whom I’d never said something negative about. I could remember hyping him up before the girl he’d eventually marry when she’d asked me about the guy. They all went on and on.
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Almost a thousand messages. All dissing one person who’d stopped posting in the group a long time ago If target had a bar my life would be perfect shirt. And insults. Because he’d understood that he’d never fit in and so had decided to only be a dormant member and, retain membership so as to be able to get important information, when necessary. When I was done reading through their conversation, I tried to look outside, to see if I could locate their faces, to see if they bore a different meaning and disposition towards me. But, they were inscrutable. And like everywhere else in the world, there were the good guys in the midst of the rest. All mixed together. Each, drowned in the entertainment and glee.