“Dead serious. Comic Sans and everything,” I say, and she holds up the plain white T-shirt I had printed earlier this week. Fuck Fark is written across the chest, and she covers the curse word so Lucy doesn’t see. “Probably shouldn’t wear it out in public, but if you feel like breaking plates or something, I think it’ll be perfect.” “This is…” She lets out another laugh and fans her face. “I want to frame it.”
