What’s on?
The day sucked – it always sucked. It’s not like this was some kind of revelation. By the time I pulled my crap backpack into my POS 2001 Toyota Corolla I was done. I put my head back against the seat and sat there. It had gone as expected – everyone had asked the same fucking questions as if it somehow it meant they cared. They didn’t know what it was like. They didn’t know jack fucking shit. I should have been in college – but death tried its best to claim me. Beat his ass back with six months of shit. Eighteen and back in Highschool. Fuck me. Tap. Tap. Tap. Mr. Morison. Fucking hell, the History teacher. He was at my window, his suit clinging to his sweat covered body. It sure was …