Well, I Lived

It was both better than I could have imagined and worse. I don’t honestly know what more to say about it. I will say that one of the grandchildren of the Klan member is fucking a damn good looking Mexican dude.

Oh, and my mom advised me to check my bed for metal spikes. Apparently this is a problem she has? Ha.

Anyway, all the rest of my stories are sad and I don’t care to tell them.

And now we’re home. I don’t see any sign of the tiny cat. It’s been a week.

4 thoughts on “Well, I Lived

  1. Sorry to hear that it sucked. Although it violates every narrative impulse I have, I agree that there are times when the stories just do no good to be told except to make you feel sadder.

  2. I’m sorry you didn’t get more good stories from it all, but maybe you got some information you can use to make the next visit easier. But what I want to know is: does your mother always have a problem with spikes in the bed, or only when visiting near the Klan?

  3. Ha, apparently, she was poked by a metal piece that was supposed to be keeping the mattress hooked to the box spring. If she had explained that, her advice would not have seemed so strange.

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