After a long day of stressin' and confessin', nothing makes a middle-aged man like myself feel more comfortable than going out to Queens and spending the night in his dead mother's bed. I wanted to take a picture of the bed, but when I saw the picture, I realized how fat my shirt makes me look. Good! No sense hiding it. Everyone always warned me not to wear vertical stripes, but at my age, my inhibitions (and my sanity) begin to gently fall away. I got this shirt at Uniqlo, during a phase where I was planning to go down to Uniqlo once a week and buy one blouse, so that by the end of the summer, my t-shirt palette would be completely refreshed. That plan worked so well, but, as usual, only for one week. Fortunately, in this picture, my camera-phone's flash obscures my face, so that when Wilhelmina Models (middle-aged division) scours the Internet for its next not-so-fresh face, they won't know it's me.
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