Pull me away from this disaster I’m living because, oh my fucking God, the girl of my absolute dreams, the one that’s been persistent in my mind for a year, the girl who could do no wrong, she likes bologna. No, not like . . . loves. LOVES! Actual tears spring to my eyes as panic races through me. I’m going to lose it. I have two choices, ask her to open her mouth so I can fuck it, right here, right now—possibly while she eats a bologna sandwich—or just run.
