We are the sons of no one, bastards of young.

Yesterday, I went to my parents’ house to do some laundry. The first load was about the size of God's ballgag, and it wouldn't dry in a single cycle. It was too big. I opened the door halfway through the second drying cycle and it was all steaming and damp and shit. So I threw on some dirty clothes and went to dinner with some friends. Woke up the next morning. Went to transfer the laundry. It had been transferred, and there was a condom, which either fell out of a pocket or was scoured for by anxious, idle fingers, sitting on top of the washing machine. Parents are insufferable busy-bodies. It’s awesome. I always wonder what, exactly, a parent's reaction to something like that feels like.

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