May 13, 2002
Oh I feel icky and unknown. Like some sicko showed me his privates in the alleyway and then winked at me. Or like overhearing a kid swear at his grandma. Or like I haven’t changed this wifebeater tank for days. Or being hit on by the only fat man in the bar. Or being hit on by the only greased-hair man in the club. Or like I just smoked 23 cigarettes and feel the cancer setting in. Or like I didn’t stand up for myself when some bigot assumed I agreed with his statement. Or like I’m out of excuses.