when phil pointed out the beer i’d bought was alkoholfrei, i wanted to fucking murder my useless, assuming, eyes. after enduring the bureaucratic humiliation game, a cold beer was really what was needed. they wouldn’t take 3 poems and a small drawing for a 33k tax bill. in the case of faceless institutions like the state, one can hardly expect culture or taste. good thing he’d brought some beer. good thing he also stole a few from the Turk next door. (that’s a long story).
screaming at low volumes
