Hits harder when you’re sitting in traffic on your way to get the same groceries you got for the last 72 weeks in a row, every Tuesday.
Then someone cuts you off and almost hits you. Part of you almost lets it happen. You know, because it’d be different.
You forget about your meaningless existence ruminating about how that guy was wrong to cut you off until you get home, where you make the 250th frozen pizza of the year as you sip on this weeks craft beer selection.
Should I play videogames? Nah, I’ll save that thrill for tomorrow.