Wherefore art thou? Thou art euthanized.
I gather my books and stuff them into my bag. Time to leave the classroom, go find my janky Civic, get behind the wheel, and drive over to the phony-swank spaghetti palace, except it feels like my Converse are Super-Glued to the floor. Super Glue does no good Rooster always says. Duct tape. That fixes everything.
Why am I thinking about my father’s opinions on household adhesives?
Why can’t I handle the fact that the roof is coming down, that the walls are closing in?
Matt’s gone, Romeo too. The best friend I trusted waited until my back was turned and then hand-crafted a KICK ME sign.
The places I went to for help instead harmed me. The doors I knocked on for support stayed closed.