Jag ber om ursäkt, återigen, för befintliga

You need something, but you avoid your go-to bodega that’s right down the street since they don’t take cards, and you can’t afford the $2 surcharge from both the ATM itself and your fascist bank.  So you go to a Bodega that you know takes cards.  When you get there, the thing you’re looking for is no where to be found, unless you want to use Myloplex in your Hamburger Helper.  Disappointed, you decide to go to your local grocery store since it’s close now, but when you’re a half a block away you realize it’s sorta late because you had to be at the office later than usual tonight, and the grocery store has closed the gate on its window display.  You notice there’s another bodega near at hand, and you go in and grab what you’re looking for, and head to the register and right when you’re about to pay you ask if they accept cards and they point you in the direction of an ATM that looks like it’s only used for those $20 bags of cocaine you can only find in Brooklyn bars.  Positively reeling from hunger and an ever-widening gyre between you and sanity, you trudge back to the initial bodega you visited.  You realize that you hadn’t looked in the entire bodega for your product even though it’s only two aisles.  You see what you need, but it’s in a container much to large for the meal you’ve been salivating about since you finished your over-priced Manhattan sandwich earlier in the afternoon.  You do a quick glance around to see if there’s anything else you can use with the product you have to purchase.  You find some Fruit Loops.  They remind you of your lost innocence when the sugar content of your cereal was equal to your ambition in life.  You grab the Fruit Loops and product you had initially left the warm confines of your apartment for.  The register reads $8.47 and you’re about to complain because complaining with bodega operators is par for the course, and you realize that Fruit Loops probably are $4.99 and what the hell happened to the world.  You buy your Fruit Loops and the only thing you really wanted anyway, and you pay the money you don’t really have and you head back to your home and complain about everything that just transpired in a stream-of-consciousness post on Tumblr because god-forbid something happen in life that isn’t exquisitely detailed in a tiny little box surrounded by the blue of Whitman’s Endlessly rocking sea.         

FVCK. Roll Credits.