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.
So gross already why am i reading this
