apostolic pentacostal

Iapos;ve seriously, as of late, become great at genuinely not caring about Franz anymore. Not thinking about him, or about the summer, or the fact that my so-called best friend is too busy to talk to me anymore, let alone remember my birthday.

Iapos;m at work right now, in the mail center. Within a period of 5 seconds, itapos;s like the world is trying to rub all of that in my face.

Iapos;m sorting packages.
All of a sudden, "Strange Times" by the Black Keys comes on the radio. Literally his favorite song of the summer, one I never really listened to.
The package Iapos;m sorting is from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.
The room number is #204, his old apartment number.

Awwwwesome...

Iapos;ll update this for real later.

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