When I was growing up my Grandma would tell me a story about myself. From when I was living with her in Burbank, I was a toddler at the time. She'd tell me a story of a day when I was playing outside, in front of the house, and I saw another kid. This kid was about five. I stumbled over to them and said (with a toddler's grasp of language), "I love you, what's your name?"
Today, I eat lunch in my car alone, simultaneously starved and afraid of company.
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