I clean up well, really I do. But there is something perpetually abnormal about me, apparent to anyone giving me more than a passing glance.
And I don’t mean the tangled hair, gratuitous sideburns, combat boots or wallet chain that I adorn with my yakuza-sleek suit. There is something else, something not quite tangible. It’s almost as if I have an aura of weirdness about me, one that’s existed my entire life.
I get those looks, you know? Those focused looks that say, “I’m onto you! You’re not us!” Even in a suit I can’t help but feel as though at any moment someone will point and howl and I’ll find myself in Invasion of the Body Snatchers.
Not that I feel a particular need to fit in. Fuck you guys. Haha. No, I just want to be able to slip through every once in a while. I just want to be able to sneak into a wedding for the free drinks. I want to be able to sneak into a bank to open an account. I want to be able to sneak into a school to teach.
All I want is to be human for a day, to know your joys and toils, hopes and fears.