I know your face!
A story about two strangers who aren't really strangers and the memory of a loved one
Everyday I’m hustlin’, just like Rick Ross. But one recent overcast Monday morning I was hustlin’ so hard I arrived at the Post Office ten minutes before it opened.
My immediate instinct was to kill time. But how? Those ten minutes weren’t going to kill themselves, not very fast anyway. And to paraphrase Ice Cube, killing time ain’t necessary, but it is easy, assuming you can connect to the internet.
I took out my phone. Was this mission to kill ten minutes an assignment for the hurly-burly of Twitter, where edge lords and outrage accounts perform their symbiotic dance for my attention? Or, was I in the mood for the Dopamine parade of TikTok?
“I know your face.”
I put my phone back in my pocket, and looked up to see a man I did not know looking at me.
“I know your face,” the man said again. “Your face is very familiar.”
Oh shit, I thought, here we go again. Another day, another stranger who thinks I’m famous, even though they don’t know, or won’t sa…
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