People all around yet more alone than ever. Am I more than a piece of furniture, only there for the aesthetics? What are people to a bar but part of the scenery, just something you come to expect to see there. Only good until you siphon all of the precious, green fuel out of them. The cacophonous sound lead to an excuse not to think. Why else would we habitate such inhospitable places unless our brain functions were being intentionally inhibited? The alcohol only serves to speed up this consensual retardation.
Given this lower form of mental existence, does it ever matter if she looks my way? Even simple eye contact might be enough to validate my right to exist. But she just looks straight through. The only eye contact you can expect is your own reflection, gleaming off the knife.
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