I'll admit I was in a bad mood. Boy issues, maybe, or something at work? I don't remember. But I do remember that, in the middle of whatever it was, I had to take my trash out. So I yanked the Hefty bag out of my garbage can, only to realize it was leaking. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" I screamed into the world's tiniest abyss: my 400-square-foot West Village studio.
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