July 9th

 If desperation had a scent it would be the throngs that paid $20 to get in the door. But there was no particular scent. Instead they bore the mark of incessant insecurity. Tight shirts, aesthetic muscles. They weren't lifting timber ti build homes, they weren't carrying the carcass of a dead hunt home to feed their family. No they were detached, lonely, looking for connection. Even the most basic of connection. 

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