By: Subaig Bindra
I try calming my worries by listening to Foo Fighters during cold showers, but then I worry about the ethics of using so much fresh water.
The only time I get to talk to girls is when I am at Superstore.
I make sure I really need something obscure and hard to find, so we can look for it together. All we do is make eye contact and walk past the bulk packs of socks. How romantic, my lack of romance.
The cashier guy gives me a confused look as I walk to him with my soy milk, mangoes, three contrasting bell peppers, and a Khadi bag.
Don’t worry, boy. I do drugs, too.
I sit out on the porch in shorts and flip-flops when the sun shines.
My photochromic glasses get a hard-on and the passersby gaze at my hairy body.
It makes me reminiscent of old times. Oma would apply copious amounts of coconut oil on my soft toddler skin as I’d sunbathe and nap all day. I miss her.
(Oma is not dead yet).