Hearts on backorder. Save Chumley's. All that we can do is write our names and cross our fingers. Every piece of home has been disappearing upon return. I only want it all back. There is nothing worse than returning home to signs that read "Condemned," and temporary memorials for friends.
Sometimes I swear I'm a genius, without the last two letters to back me up. I'm in love with being treated like a charity. We all love to receive. Dissect me visually, but only from a far. Microscopic judgment is so last year.


