Friend of the profligate, the drowsy, the distractible, saying you have a pretty voice isn’t the same as saying I would want to listen to it complain that every conversation with me feels like a vocabulary test. You woke up hoping that today is the day you qualify for the grand-prize drawing, a six-figure salary, full lifetime membership in the disappearing middle class. I woke up hoping to get through the next thing & the next & the next with my soul sort of still intact. “Paper or plastic?” isn’t an existential question. Just fucking answer it.