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Eleanor Rigby

I downloaded a “white noise” app from the marketplace so I could drown out the sound of Howard Stern. My lonely housemate blast the podcast through the walls, as if the droning voice of old Howard is worth sharing.

I spent a considerable amount of time figuring out whether I wanted to listen to: white noise, pink noise, or mechanical sounds (fan, air filter, and airplane cabin). In the end I settled with the sound of rain, since it hardly rains in California and I rarely get to enjoy it.

I was reading Salem’s Lot, for the book club I joined when Howard came into the home. Even with the sound of rain blasting in my ears I can still hear the rumble of his voice...

The drone of Howard Stern, this must be Hell, I can see it now: miserable, inconsiderate, lonely people listening to Howard Stern. Sad, pathetic weasels that specialize in preying on “softies” who will feel sorry for them. Only so they can turn around and stab you in the back.

I’ve never faired well with lonely people. Independent people, people who prefer to be alone, those are my people. But those who can’t handle being alone, so much so that they crash into and force themselves into the lives of others. The absolute worse, they give those of us who enjoy solitude a bad name.

Well look at me. Instead of reading, I’ve now wasted my Time, as well as yours, writing this.

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