Today, I caught my reflection in the coffee machine at work and almost laughed. This goth barista aesthetic is such a fucking joke. Like, who am I trying to impress? The salarymen who barely glance at me while I pour their overpriced lattes? Anyway, spent my break fantasizing about being bent over the counter and fucked hard from behind—no sweet talk, just pure desperation. But then reality hit: my cunt’s drier than the espresso grounds, and the only thing getting pounded is my self-esteem. Maybe I should just buy a vibrator and call it a life. (Mood: bitter)