If i’m telling you, “this is a hot plate.” But I make no effort to put it down, i’m internally yelling at you to move your shit. Your phone. Your keys. Your bread. Whatever is directly in front of you is from that point on is now classified as your shit. The shit you are suddenly responsibly for and I am burning my hands for. Move your shit. I’m not going to move it for you.

Shoutout to the people who see me approaching with their food and immediately start clearing the way for me. You are the real MVPs. You know what’s up. You understand.

As for everybody else. Move. Your. Shit.


We see that and we respect the fuck out of you. Thank you.

About C.A. Jacobs

Just another crazy person, masquerading as a writer.
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