Yesterday, riding to my shuttle stop for the second time in a week on a bus packed with the Loyola women's soccer team, I found myself strongly thinking, "I've ended up with someone's erotic fantasy, but it sure the hell isn't mine." I wager that somewhere in Chicago there's a shmuck riding a bus packed with sweaty Mexican construction workers thinking the exact same thing.
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Of course, every other place in the county is full of hairy potheads and retired loggers, so it's not like I have anything to complain about!
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