I bike up the hill, wearing chacos and rolled-up jeans, my hair in a braid, a green woven Peruvian bag aver my shoulder. My earrings are made of beans.
If it dresses like an EVST major, and it smells like an EVST major, and pedals like one... Alright, God. I accept. I accept that I was destined to become this. Almost comically so. Onward!

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