February 2012
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It’s nights like these that are the hardest. After a long day of coming and going, all I want to do is go home and curl up. But you won’t be there, you won’t be waiting for me and nothing hurts more than the reminder that you’re gone. I can’t even stand the idea of my house anymore because everything is you.
Just earlier, my grandmother turned to my two cousins and...
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Debating how drunk I would need to be to steal the golf cart sitting in the parking lot. On the one hand this place goes to sleep after eight o’clock, but on the other, how deprived am I of age-appropriate interaction if I’m thinking about stealing a 10mph tops golf cart, from a ninety year old man?
