There Were Good Things, Too

Like that one time my friends and I ordered a pepperoni pizza so grotesquely large it couldn’t fit through the apartment door horizontally and how the slices were bigger than two of our heads stacked on top of each other. I have found that there are perks to the apocalypse and sometimes they look like greasy paper towels and football on TV featuring the eeriness of empty stadiums and lack of belligerent cheering that makes normal feel normal. We’re accidental artists of making the most out of living, even when it’s been seven months of isolation and bad news and unexpected obituaries, when all of California is on fire, when our streets are stained with blood, when right and wrong have blended together until the definitions eventually became horrifyingly interchangeable, when it feels as if the timeline itself has torn at its seams, spilling the guts of humanity onto the fabric of the universe and staining it, when it’s another morning in a broken simulation and it’s far too easy to believe in the cruelty of this world. I want to remember that there were good things, too. Like how we were all here together, feeling the weight of it all on a Friday evening, haunted by old dreams, how we collectively decided, Hell to it all, why don’t we just order a pizza?

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