I have a hole in my finger, fecal matter on my shoes, new trash talk ringing in my ears, snot in my nose, too many texts in my phone, taco bell in my stomach, lame boys in my head, hate in my mouth, zine in my hand, nothing in my heart, and a good time in my night.
I offically despise the number nine, and I'm never leaving voicemails again. Mark my words.
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