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      CommentAuthorZ
    • CommentTimeJan 30th 2008
     (756.1)
    In response to a thread called VENT! on another forum:
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    <strong>VENT!</strong>, huh?

    I remember a time when I could go to a decent local coffee bar, sit down with a good book, and occasionally get interrupted by someone looking at the cover and saying, 'hey, that's a great book, how far have you gotten?'

    Now that I've moved to the concrete corporate Bay of Silicon, I've found out that a black coat and black boots aren't a sufficient uniform for the counter-culture. The coffee houses are tucked away and hidden, aggressively clique-y, and too cool for me. I've resorted to hiding away in the corners of various Starbucks locations, ranting like a lunatic via laptop, or sometimes out loud just to see who's paying attention.

    I've started tying off my wrists with my boot laces until my hands tingle and throb, just to pass the time. I haven't decided what else the boot laces are good for, now that I have to wear proper leather loafers for my desk job. I carry the boot laces in my pockets and consider tying them together into a really long boot lace.

    There's a record store I like to go to. I put the laces back in my boots for an evening, stomp through the parking lot and tear through their concrete warehouse buying genres and trading favourites for an hour.

    Then I go home and unwrap all the little presents like it's ex-muss morning and pour cold audio water over my seething noisy brain until it shuts down for the night.

    When I wake up in the morning, it's with a new favourite song, a new favourite band, and no real argument for why. I take the laces out of my boots, stuff them in my pocket, and shuffle off to work in my loafers.

    Vent.

    - Z
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    <em>
    Go on. Vent to me.
    </em>