He’s smart enough. He’s decent. He’s even got the vanity plate “CRASH,” and has since about 1987.

But he’s the same age and grew up in the same neighborhood as the operations manager. Due to desegregation school bussing in the 80s they didn’t know each other, but they knew many of the same people.

On the one hand, the fact that they’re buddying up means I don’t have to worry about trying to fit in anymore. I can just be as weird as I want. I also interject my own sad life stories into their reminiscences. Nothing I’m saying is untrue, and I get a sick little bit of pleasure from saying things that make them uncomfortable.

“yeah, I don’t keep in touch from anyone from high school anymore. The only one was Russell and he died almost 3 years ago.” 

Or

“I was the target of all the bullies in my middle school. I never even had a friend till 9th grade when we moved an hour away,”

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On the other hand, I’m feeling more and more isolated. I’m so glad to be leaving in a month.