eternal young k blonde hair please save me
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“Nobody’s going to want to sit on high-speed rail for fifteen hours to get from New York City to LA.”
Me. I will sit on high-speed rail for fifteen hours. I’ll sit on it for days. I’ll write and read and nap and eat and then do it all over again. I’ll stare out the windows and see America from ground level and not have to drive. I’ll see the Rockies and the deserts and cornfields and the Mississippi River and your house and yours and yours too. I’ll make up stories in my head about the small towns I see as we go along. I’ll see the states I’ve yet to see because driving or flying there is a fucking slog and expensive to boot. I’ll enjoy the ride as much as the destination. And then I’ll do it all over again to come the fuck home.
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The low tire pressure light came on in my car, and I’m kind of freaking out because I’ve never had this happen before, and I definitely feel like I’m too old for that. Also, I don’t know which gas stations in my town have air pumps.
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I like how like… with every new piece of Star Wars media that paints Tatooine as more and more of a shithole where everyone is a murderous crimelord the funnier it gets that Luke Skywalker just grew up on this planet completely normal.
Like I’m envisioning a normal day at Tosche Station where a cyborg biker and a Twi'lek prostitute are stabbing each other over a bag of spice and then it just pans over to this fresh-faced nancy boy sitting at a table sipping on his blue milk going “oh golly, I sure do love power converters!”
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