I took the last sip of Zach’s PBR from last night and it was disgusting.
I somehow expect other people’s advice to form the necessary backbone for my life. And that’s disgusting.
Frosting a cake in a parking lot is somewhat less disgusting that I’d thought it might be.
Today was Thursday. g’s birthday Thursday. And everything is okay.
Whenever they didn’t speak, Susie’s tattoo itched with a mixture of anticipation and irritation–an expected reaction to such an unnatural separation. This time, however, the snail gathered its home upon its shoulders and made the long, slow trek to take residence in her heart, to keep company its ache from the days of residual regret.
