Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a concentration. Choose 9am classes, 7am workouts, Emergen-C, and guac for an extra $1.50. Choose Duo Shibboleth push, Bird scooters, and Snackpass. Choose federally-subsidized student loans. Choose a grade option. Choose your friends. Choose your textbooks and Times New Roman 12-point double-spaced font. Choose the same pair of Blundstone boots as everyone else. Choose the single-use bathroom, staring at yourself in the mirror framed by tiles, wondering who the f*ck you are in the library at 1:58 a.m. on a Thursday night. Choose sitting in your candleless room re-watching a sitcom of choice, listening to the “Fresh Finds” playlist algorithmically tailored just for you, eating an entire bag of spicy Cool Ranch Flavor-blasted Doritos™ in one sitting. Choose the illusion of choice brought on by late capitalism and American individualism. Choose the sink that works, the washing machine that works, the big Baja’s, and an apartment on Benefit Street with a view of the skyline. Choose your future. Choose the Indy… But why would I want to do a thing like that?