After I’ve scratched enough to give me some relief, I wipe the blunt blade of the butter knife on my jeans. A white line of dead skin forms a thin line across my dull blue jeans. I should grab another knife, but I know I don’t have another clean one. With a shrug, I dip the knife into the peanut butter and spread it across the stale bread in my hand. I will never get tired of peanut butter sandwiches. My mother used to make them for me as a kid, something easy to shove in my mouth so she could go back to sitting in her precious chair.
C L E A N?????!!!! 🤢🤢🤮🤮
