What changes you?
Your education? Your life experience? Your own home-grown sadness?
And still, all that can be dashed away when you realize just how humble you are..
Spent Saturday in the East Village with some old friends from college, from old theatre companies. Enjoying the vegan scene, catching up on their minor successes. They're passionate and awkward and wonderful - just like you.
And then you head over to the Bryant Park Hotel for a friend's birthday party. As you're waiting, you grow increasingly aware how little you belong in this space. Everyone looks so complete, so polished and fashionable and confident and sexually apt.
And then there's you.
Wearing a cardboard belt that's falling apart and a t-shirt hidden inside a cheap sport coat and trench. Hair matted and slovenly. Stocky and sporting jeans you've rolled up two inches on each leg because they decidedly don't make fat pants with a waist that starts at the crotch.
And it's times like this where you're not the glorious creative spirit. You're just a fat, poor, brown kid from Modesto, watching the rich people live.
So you leave. Call to apologize. And your excuse seems so flimsy, But it's a raw , ineffable trigger.
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