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I realized through all of this that it didn’t matter if I ran a red light or stopped for it, whether I sat behind a line of slow moving cars or wove between them, whether I passed a bus on the left or on the right. Drivers were going to hate my presence no matter what.
On the night of our date, I brought a bottle of wine and quickly surveyed the place for guns, knives, and S&M gear, but it was a normal 30-something guy apartment: bikes, antiques, speakers. He didn’t drink (migraines) but there was no way that I was not going to (normalcy).