There are at least three murderous psychos hunting me and yet all I can think about is food. I’ve officially gone loopy. Like proper, doctor-please-admit-me-to-the-grippy-sock-hotel type loopy. I’ve always known my mental break was coming, and it took being framed for murdering my new husband and being forced to run away in the middle of the night for it to pull the plug on my sanity. I’m not normal. None of this is normal.
