I’m always struck by how real people are.
They talk about Philly cheese steaks
And clutch their guitars like they are life-rafts
And drink beer
And mess up the words to your favorite songs (only slightly)
And say things like, “Fuck, that’s not B-flat”.
And I have have to confront the fact that they are people, living, cursing, cotton-t-shirt-and-faded-corduroy-wearing people,
Just like me.
One of my favorite lines from F. Scott Fitzgerald is
“I want to know you moved and breathed in the same world with me”,
Because to me it means I want to know that you are real
And that we are much more similar than we are different.
That’s scary.
And disillusioning.
And wonderful.
