I recognized that I was resisting the system of society as it currently stands. Not a person or an object or an entity, but a Way of life.
The sound drizzled across his eardrum, filling the cafe with a certain cinnamon roll gooeyness that would have fit as easily into an episode of Stranger Things as it would into a Vegas lounge in the nineteen-seventies. He envisioned three alcoholics dying slowly at the bar. However, in this reality, there were seven random midwesterners enjoying an evening of sobriety.
In unrelated thoughts, Donald Trump is Al Bundy’s hero.