Someone would cry, someone would be put in a headlock, some nights I’d be the only one in the car bawling my eyes out to Bruce Springsteen and thinking about the time I wandered off with a stranger at the grocery store because the wore the same brand of stone washed jeans my father did.
Our girlfriend is wearing a most dramatic black dress that’s cut well above the knee and glistens even in the velvet glow of the club. She looks so hot. She’s dancing to music she hates, but you’d never know it. Someone tells her she looks like Mila Kunis. You look like a gutless teacher’s assistant on his night out.
The rough and tumble realities of ‘big city living’ is little more than an exhausted trope at this point, but it certainly stands the test of time. Will you screw someone over, if it affords you an opportunity for success? Are you even willing to get exactly what you want? Is it tenacity and strength of will that converts erstwhile hobbyists into real artists?