Dec. 2

Kurt works at the gas station around the corner and can’t stand it. Like he says when he sits down next to me, “work sucks, man.” I nod understandingly though I haven’t worked a day in my life. Kurt’s offered jobs all the time he doesn’t want, and his resume makes him out to be a real go-getter, a jack-of-all-trades, an eager beaver, phrases that if mentioned to him would earn you an unimpressed stare. Though we’re unrelated you might be surprised at what we have in common (except for his detached broody thing, which doesn’t really mesh with the “on edge constantly” qualities I promote). Before Kurt dropped out of school, he was a school therapist’s DREAM. He spent most of high school not going to high school, but when he went he would conjugate proper nouns like nobody’s business and solve for X on command. You could see the desire to reform in every teacher’s eyes. I swear I heard them mumbling over and over “this-is-why-I-got-into-teaching”. They’d approach him, punch him in the arm, nod knowingly at his disinterest and subtlety try to work in mention of after-school programs he might be interested in. 

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