Sunday, February 1, 2009

the mysterious circumstances of beverly kenney

Today, someone asked if it was five dollars to get me to go home with him.

He laughed.

I haven't felt right since, and I hate him for affecting me like that, for taking power from me. I hate myself for letting him.

Days like this, you wish you either had a mean right hook or a perfect singing voice.

Mostly the punching, though.

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