I learned that part of being alive is screaming your heart out to something. Anything. That sometimes crying and listening to the Rent soundtrack is a good thing. A necessary thing. And, most of all, I learned that some of the best thinking is done on long, silent drives.
Lightning flickers around faraway mountaintops, thunder plays a sweeter symphony with the rain’s percussive accompaniment. Nature’s music overwhelms me; the beauty in it has escaped me for my first decade of life.
Sometimes stories have the ability to go far beyond entertainment. They become ingrained in the very fabric of our lives, just because they were there at the right time.
There are a few of us having a fancy meal and drinking a douchey French rosé called Ruse le Douche, talking about how dissecting comedy is awful. It’s the show’s host, the playwright, my girlfriend, and myself. I should have gotten more stoned.