FEELS: the other amendment

So I'm sitting in a sea of prep. I'm all alone, or at least I feel all alone. I walk up to two girls, who are in grad school and have spent many hours making sure that they look amazing. They do. I can feel the desire raging. The whole time I'm talking to them it doesn't feel right. It's forced. The interaction is superficial and we all know it. I buy them a round of shots anyway. It doesn't matter. One of them leaves to go the bathroom. The other ignores me. Her phone is more interesting. I leave. 


Some people don't give a fuck about anyone who can't give all their fucks to them. I end up at a side bar. A duet is playing indie music. They don't have a drummer. It still grooves. I drink my Shiner as she rockes her dreads and feels the feels.  


These are my people. They're not attractive. They don't spend their energy on being attractive. They're just trying to be themselves, and express said selves. They hug each other. They love each other. They feel the feels.  


Its not fake.  


FUCK fake.