I'm in hell. Or a very invasive version of shock therapy.
A man sat down next to me at Caribou, where I'm working b/c the internet is out at my office.
He's gabbing on the phone about his divorce, about how his kids are taking it, how he feels bad that his wife will have to grow old by herself, that he wishes he'd met his new girlfriend 12 years ago, only then she would have been 12.
"It's gonna take a while to deal with the kids," he just said.
"She'll be fine. She's strong, a survivor."
"She's gettin' fucking everything. My direct deposit from New York."
"That's a good idea -- I'll do that right away."
"Yeah, I mean I had to start a new life. I took Heather to Florida."
Is it appropriate to start crying in the middle of Caribou??