I got out of the shower this morning and, through the thin door to the hallway, heard my independent living neighbor talking to the elevator. I looked out the peephole and didn't see or hear anyone else, so I'm assuming this might be an OCD ritual or something.
Anyhow, she was telling the elevator "that is your prerogative. You have to choose who you are going to be. You can't be anybody but yourself. That is your prerogative. That is your prerogative. You are who you are going to be. She can't make you be someone you are not. That is your prerogative."
She said all this in a slow, deliberate tone with that slight muffled curliness you get in the speech pattern of the developmentally delayed; like she's talking from the bottom of her larynx and it's forced air. This, coincidentally, is how she sings.
If I ever live surrounded by yuppies and the completely stable I will never be so entertained.
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