usually

there was a kid who loved a certain artist, they cut pictures from magazines, taped them on the door to their room. knew the lyrics off by heart, even a tattoo of their lyrics in a special place. they grew up, moved to New York, got a job in a restaurant, the artist came in and they served them. they couldn’t bring themselves to reveal their love of their music and when the meal was over the artist left but not without first leaving an insufficient tip. they went home that night and wondered why it took them so long to realize the art and the artist aren’t the same thing.

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