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My love for Dave Grohl soared to new heights this morning on my way to the hair salon.

My phone shuffled to a song called Sean and I listened to it about 10 times in a row before moving on to The Neverending Sigh, which I looped at least 5 times. I’ll concede that my OCD contributed to this behavior to a significant degree but solo head bopping and toes tapping aren’t the norm for me — particularly when met with covert glimpses from my fellow riders. But I couldn’t help myself. It just made me really, really… happy.

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The Futility of Hope

A few months ago I was THRILLED that a Chipotle opened on Myrtle Avenue. My favorite meal was now within walking distance. God is good.

But I discovered today that this road to paradise has its potholes: a Starbucks opened right next door. Of course there are other signs of gentrification in the neighborhood but I think a new Starbucks is a universal sign of the onslaught of uniformity, the sacrifice of charm for convenience.

I really thought my neighbors were better than this. In the morning I only see unbranded paper coffee cups. Local coffee shops are well-supported, their windows always lined with MacBooks. I thought we had embraced the extra commuting time because we only have access to one train. So how did Starbucks dare go up against this crusade of local advocacy?

Because they’ve realized we’re as weak as their watery, burnt coffee. And bristling with self-hatred each time they slide our debit cards, we realize nowhere is safe.