My transit card history tells me that I’ve not seen anything but my own neighborhood in fifty-eight days, and just the act of typing that out has sparked a mild anxiety event.
The unsupported use case of Bix Frankonis’ disordered, surplus, mediocre midlife in St. Johns, Oregon.
No fear, no hate, no thoughtless bullshit, and no nazis.
Read the current manifesto. (And the followup.)
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My transit card history tells me that I’ve not seen anything but my own neighborhood in fifty-eight days, and just the act of typing that out has sparked a mild anxiety event.