I've Always Been Sort Of A Closet

I Figured Being A Bed Salesman Was A Job Of Biblically Bad Paradox. I Mean, Here He Was, Forced To Stand For Eight Or Nine Hours A Day, And The Whole Time He’s Surrounded By Beds. And Not Only That, He’s Surrounded By Shoppers Who See The Beds And Can’t Help But Think, Man, I’d Love To Lie Down On That Bed For A Second. So Not Only Does He Have To Stop Himself From Lying Down, But He Has To Stop Everyone Else From Doing It, Too. I Knew If I Were Him, I Would Be Desperate For Human Company.

I Want To Believe There Is A Somebody Out There For Me. I Want To Believe That I Exist To Be There For That Somebody.

The Best Is When We All Go At Once, Like An Army Of Interrelated Popcorn Zombies Who Laugh The Same Laughs And Gasp The Same Gasps And Aren’t So Germ-phobic With Each Other That We Won’t Share A Ginormous Coke With One Straw. Family Is Useful Like That.

I Walked Inside Macy’s And Faced The Pathetic Spectacle Of A Department Store Full Of Shoppers, None Of Whom Were Shopping For Themselves. Without The Instant Gratification Of A Self-aimed Purchase, Everyone Walked Around In The Tactical Stupor Of The Financially Obligated.

I Thought About The Bigger Picture Of My Life, And About The People—and Particularly The Guys—i Would Encounter During My Lifetime. How Would I Ever Know When That Moment Was Right, When Expectation Met Anticipation And Formed … Connection?