I cradle books like babies. Carry them delicately and alive. I snort at the kid wearing a John Deer t-shirt and wonder how people in this place can be so disastrously behind the times. I'm a pretentious judgemental ass hole sometimes. A word swilling academic. I shop at Anthropologie and pretend at being edgy. I could curl up under the metal tree with my words. Sit there in the grass like dog shit and swear acid words to displace the fault of my duodenum. Even one of the branches on the shiny tree is broken. I'd sit there and shout fuck you. Fuck you. Especially.