Monday, June 8, 2015. I wake to the buzz of the phone next to my. Fake it, fake it and mom will never know. I run to the kitchen, pull out a plate, a knife, the loaf of bread and the jar of skippy. Popping a slice in the toaster,. I scratch crumbs onto the empty plate and throw the blackened bread in the trash covering it with trash. To make sure she knows I have been in it.

ع شق م رگ ت ضمینے. ڪ لا ایטּ ب لاگ ن میام בیگہ ه ر. کے ڪآرے בاش بیاב اینجآ. بیرون ک شید ا ز راب ط ه. בنیایے است ב نیاے בر وט م ט . ا گه دیر ب ه توטּ س ر میز ن م. ב خت رے ڪہ براے בاشتنت.

Mes amis, mes emmerdes, mes Amours.