He came home to a Spaghetti Warehouse font and pulled out his shotgun. All of his childhood fears came back to him. When he was nine his father took him to the Warehouse to eat bad lasagna. He did what he had to do—the only sane thing that he could do—he put the font to rest.
withdrawn
exhausted
Blogs I Read
- Dreamer's Reality
- Save me from this prison I built in the sewers of ...
- Another fit of sadness. "You didn't even know h...
- Mind games with Lucifer. Undermining the linguist...
- Fighting the war in my mind. Losing battles. Los...
- Raised to expect continuity. Raised on disintegra...
- I am suffocating.
- Devouring the remains of a dream unfulfilled. Her...
- Illustrating dreams for the copy man living in the...
- The agony of being human has always been quite rea...
- Time bombs ticking in my ear. I am witnessing the...
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Wednesday, October 01, 2003
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