One of the reasons I'd prefer a post apocalyptic world is because nobody would be having a good time there.
Perfect summer days like today, the kind that fills outdoor patios of cafes and bars fill me with FOMO ridden anxiety. If days were social media posts, then this is a post by an ex girlfriend on the beach on a picture perfect day.
The number of people whose good news fills me with dread is starting to outshadow the people whose good news brings me joy. At first I'd taken this as a sign that I was maturing, coming to my senses. Waking up to how shitty most people were. Then as it progressed, I began fearing that I was on a slippery slope to becoming the villain. And then, now, I'm stuck here and am convinced that I'm in the right: fuck everybody else.
I'm so convinced of this. But then again I'm not. Cause if I was, then why would I dwell on this idea for so long? Why would I feel the need to run away from it. I look up at the steps leading to Jackie's door. I look at the door that I've seen already a million times -- or a hundred times -- which in the college timespan is a million, and then I view me from behind. I watch myself looking up to the door and I readjust the 12 pack of PBR in my right hand.