Bookmark #107

We’d tell them how all of us woke up every day and got out of bed intending to save the world. We’d tell them how by nine-fifteen in the morning, we’d give up on our quests, and hope we at least saved ourselves. We’d tell them how much of art we loved, and how much of it we made, and how much of it got unnoticed every day. We’d tell them we still enjoyed all the art, and we listened to everything, and we watched everything, and we read everything. We didn’t care, and we had no taste. The idea of taste was dead.

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