Patrick Gill

Throughout high school, I hated the scent of Axe. Axe smells like desperation.

“Isn’t this what you wanted? Aren’t you happy we are working towards this? You really want more already?” Yeah, I do. And I don’t think it’s too much.

When you have been told that you can measure the strength of your sense of “community” by your proximity to a gay bar, it is hard to break the habit and to ask where else can we get to know each other.

When don’t even have the solid floor of a rejection to bounce your future applications or searches off of, not even having something to catalyze your indignant “Oh yeah, I’ll show you,” futility seems like the easiest thing to hold on to.