Saturday I’ll be gone. My roommate doesn’t move out until
the first week of August, but apparently she absolutely had to move all of the
silverware out with her this weekend. For the next four days I’ll be living off
of forty four plastic knives, three plastic spoons, and a giant spatula. I’ve
packed everything of mine except for one frying pan and one pot. Though I’ve
cooked enough food for the week that I probably can pack those up, too. But
still, you don’t see me taking silverware from her. It’s not like I’m still
here or anything, no, thinking of others instead of yourself is silly. By all
means, take my silverware. I’ll go back to caveman days and eat with my hands.
Or make bizarre chopsticks from plastic knives.
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