‘And although my eyes were open, they might just as well have been closed’

My dear­est Clara,

I don’t even re­al­ly like you yet be­cause my balls still haven’t dropped, so please don’t write back – girls have cooties and we can’t risk weak­en­ing the front.

I miss my Nin­ja­go Le­gos and Moun­tain Dew Code Red. And I for­got to pack my iPod with Em­inem’s cat­a­logue on it so I guess I’m stuck lis­ten­ing to this Kid Rock they’re blast­ing on a cir­ca 1994 boom box. There’s this but­ton la­beled “Tur­bo Bass” and it’s pushed in but I don’t think it ac­tu­al­ly does anything.

I couldn’t find my red shirt so I had to go with the salmon col­ored one grand­ma Fritzi got me for my Bar Mitzvah.

Sin­cere­ly,
Trevor

PS: Oh I al­most for­got – death to all Jews.
 
 

—emi­ly duchaine

Flom­mist Emi­ly Duchaine lives in the Pa­cif­ic North­west. She likes to drink mead, learn about sharks, and lis­ten to the Talk­ing Heads. She pre­tends to be a pro­fes­sion­al busi­ness­woman most days. Copy­right © 2017 Emi­ly Duchaine. Lyric from.

MOR D’ARTÍCULOS  MOR FLOMM !

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