Same here. One of the instructions was “write your name on the board.” Hardcore shaming.

That’s… what Americans do. I live about 1500 miles from my parents, and only use time as a measurement if I’m planning to drive that far, mainly in days.

The story was written for an audience of about 5 aging hipsters from Brooklyn.

Well said. The whole “epilogue” read like a hypercondensed Manifesto of the Pathological Twat.

It was basically the perfect canvas for photoshopping: as empty and nondescript as it was ubiquitous and recognizable.