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Mom asked which color I prefer, while she took me out, to pick a towel, she showed me a red glowing towel, that’s it, she said, the one for you, and I nodded, because I wanted out of this, I wanted to get the towel and move on, but mom changed her mind, perhaps the blue one is better, she said, she made me touch it, feel it, and I pretended I thought about it, like choosing towels was important, although I couldn’t care less, and mom nodded but then she shrugged like she wasn’t so sure anymore, she gave me a pink one, with tiny little unicorns, more girly, she said, I rolled my eyes, like I was too old for girly things, only I was too tired to care, but mom insisted, that’s so exciting, she said, so many towels to choose from, let’s pick a fucking towel, I thought, but kept quiet, to make mom happy, for mom was happy picking towels, they all seemed different, unique, to her, like they are to me now, now that I’m choosing the perfect towel, which should suit the color of my underwear, the color of my eyes, and I prefer towels to people, I don’t find people that attractive anymore, for my youth has ended, I’m doomed, I’m done, I’m picky, youth ends when you pick towels but you ignore people, youth ends when you get serious, when you get serious with towels, when possibility is not obvious, when people become towels and you no longer think you could fall in love with almost everything and everyone.