this morning #785.

this morning, after seeing him hard at work in the café corner pretty much every day for the past year, i finally got up the courage to ask him what he was up to. by the way he was always pounding away at the keys of his laptop, i assumed he was being productive in one of two ways. he could be a reincarnation of jack kerouac, hopped up on whatever, the great american novel spilling out of him. on the other hand, he could also be an internet troll, hopped up on whatever, his furious typing transformed into a tidal wave of vitriol. after ten minutes where he told me that he wrote about liberty, misandry & a bevy of other “y’s,” i still wasn’t sure which of the two paths he was on.