Sometimes I Drive Nowhere Just to Feel Like a Man With Purpose
No destination. No playlist. Just road noise, bottled water, and the faint hope that movement still counts as progress.
No destination. No playlist. Just road noise, bottled water, and the faint hope that movement still counts as progress.
It wasn’t always fists. Sometimes it was silence, or jokes that hit just hard enough to make you close the door again.
She blinked twice and somehow read a 12-page PDF of my suppressed feelings. I just wanted chips.
They watched a show, talked about trauma, didn’t kiss, and now she’s unsure whether to text him or cite him in a paper on intimacy theory.
He’s not bitter, he’s just better. A new class of digital bachelors is using their dating bios to diagnose women and pitch themselves as the cure. All in 300 characters or less.