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This requires some backstory. Since I started grade school, I played piano. I apparently got really good, too. One of my teachers said I could go to college on a piano scholarship. But when I started high school, I joined my school choir, and between that and having to switch teachers for the fourth year in a row, I wound up quitting. I've been meaning to start again for four and a half years.
So a few weeks ago, I decided that since I didn't have access to my piano at home, since it's in another state, I should order a keyboard for my dorm room. Not nearly as good, but it'll fit in the room and let me start before summer, so I'm fine with it.
It arrived today, but I have a class in a few minutes, and there's a test tomorrow that I need to study for, so I can't actually play it now. I think my schedule is actively trying to annoy me.
Comments
Kind of like:
So a few weeks ago, I decided that since I didn't have access to my
piano at home, since it's in another state, I should order a keyboard
for my dorm room. Not nearly as good, but it'll fit in the room and let
me start before summer, so I'm fine with it.
It arrived today,
but when I got the box, it smelled horrible. I was wondering "why would a keyboard smell like this?" and I opened the box. It's touch was filled with grime and sogginess, really gross, like a pound of rotten food was sitting on the box for a long time. I opened up the box and found a keyboard. It didn't look THAT bad, but it looked kind of ugly looking.
I then pulled it out of the box, and immediately dropped it.
It merely bugged me.
I needed some extra income to pay for my chronic heroine abuse and it's been so long since I've eaten that I no longer have the energy to mug people in the street. I thought back an remembered that I used to know how to play piano as a kid, and I might be able to make some extra money if I gave out lessons. I remembered that my parents got me a piano for my 11th birthday, but I left it at their house because I couldn't afford a mover to bring it to my apartment. We seem to be running into a theme here.
I wrote my dad a letter asking him to have it sent to me, to which he obliged, but when the piano reached my house I found my mother's week-old corpse inside of it. Oh, DAD!
I don't abuse heroines. What would I do that for?
Human bodies to not work this way, yet they do.
People Chairs. People Tables. People Houses.
For more information, please apply the imagery of a Gingerbread Man living in a Gingerbread City into a human perspective.
Neither of them are really horror movies though...
^ Agreed.
In Random: the game you get to choose from any number of adorable protagonists, one of whom might even be a Moe version of yourself! (Bonus game: trying to figure out whether your face is a girl's or a guy's). It takes place in a post-cyberpunk universe where the air is made of drugs, which cause the entire world to look like a saccharine meadow where Billy Joel's greatest hits play on an infinite loop. In reality, it is a hell on earth.
Good idea so far y/n?
There are millions and millions of different hells, you know, not just one, or 9.