The Walk of Shame

Words of Mass Destruction

DEAR DIARY,

LOL just fucking with you.

It’s 8:41am (and I only know that because when I think I’m running late, every minute at a bus stop is the same as a treadmill minute, or a microwave minute) and I am already sweating balls. Just under 30c/86f with 79% humidity (yeah, I looked that shit up #accuweather) and the walk to the bus stop alone felt like cardio. I board the 143, find a seat, and soak in the air conditioning (itself worth the bus fare). Gazing out the window, I notice a young woman: her black, frizzled hair, slightly smeared makeup, and crumpled dress (combined with the time of day, early Saturday morning) made me think to myself…

“…YOU LOOK KINDA WALK OF SHAME-Y…”

Wow, dude. What the fuck? Did I just think that to myself? Suddenly ashamed and thankful no one else could overhear my unforgiving and unfounded critiques of others, I began to dissect the pop culture catch phrase: walk. of. shame.

Next thought:

“SERIOUSLY THOUGH, WHAT’S SHE GOT TO BE ASHAMED OF? SHE PROBABLY GOT HER’S LAST NIGHT.”

Did you get any? Sex or no, did you have a fun time last night? Sure, she might’ve made a few choices that she regrets at the moment (Korean hangover drinks don’t do shit, btw), but I think it’s safer to assume she had a great time and it was of her own volition.

Next thought:

“ROCK ON.”

My bus crosses the Han and I’m left curious as to what her story actually is. I prefer to believe that whatever happened last night to result in her disheveled 9am bus ride, she’d gladly choose to do it all over again.

Next thought:

“WALK OF SHAME? MORE LIKE STRUT OF GLORY, AMIRITE OR WUT?”

I’m glad we crossed paths. Cheers, next round’s on me.

-gp

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