"They're just feelings. And no one cares about your feelings..."
Troy sucked down another hot and dry swig of his shaggy cigarette, which he rolled himself like he always does. I gazed out the window as midday Concord was pulled into a long stretching blur. "Damn. He's right." I thought. "No one cares about how you feel about anything. No one gives a damn unless it relates or has something to do with them." Troy turned down Claycord Ave. We were getting close to Clints house. I stayed silent for a while, thinking about all my feelings. Thinking about all the things I was afraid to share, all the opinions I kept bottled up, all the people who didn't care, including myself. It was like learning a new word. Or, seeing the World a bit more clearly. We sped by a goofy looking handmade mailbox resting on a long wooden beam. We were close, but I stayed silent the rest of the drive.