So I’m sitting on the floor amidst all these half-unpacked boxes in my shitty motel room by the highway, the stripper I’ve been “running into” on a pretty regular basis idly picking a scab in my hand-me-down armchair.
We’re waiting for my recently-ex-wife to drop off the kid so I can feel shitty about myself for a weekend as he smirks and mutters his way through whatever activities I can come up with that don’t involve him staring at the computer while I get slowly drunk in… Read more »
