The Inner Monologue Of A Man Who Has Just Sent A Dick Pic
“I sent that to her, right? Shit.” Starts swiping his iPhone to the “Social” folder, furiously desperate to open SnapChat. “Ok, thank God.”
“I sent that to her, right? Shit.” Starts swiping his iPhone to the “Social” folder, furiously desperate to open SnapChat. “Ok, thank God.”
Being unemployed isn’t being. If our work defines us, then what are we without it? Nothing. And that nothingness does not invoke a sense of freedom.