Living In America Raw May 2026
The highway is a religion. You spend three hours of your life each day sandwiched between a lifted truck with a Punisher sticker and a Tesla whose driver is watching TikTok at 80 mph. Road rage is the only real meditation left. You flip someone off, then feel nothing.
That’s America. Glorious. Brutal. Unmedicated. And somehow, still moving. living in america raw
The grocery store has 47 kinds of peanut butter but no fresh vegetables within five miles of your zip code. You eat frozen pizza in the car before driving home so you don’t have to cook. Your phone buzzes: a news alert about another school shooting, another climate record broken, another CEO making 300x your salary. You swipe it away. You have to be up at 5:30. The highway is a religion
Friday night you sit on a cracked curb drinking a tallboy. The sky is orange from wildfire smoke or sunset — doesn’t matter. A neighbor blasts reggaeton. Another screams at their kid. Sirens wail three blocks over. You think: this is it. The grind. The dream. The raw fucking nerve of it all. You flip someone off, then feel nothing
