Okay, we’re not actually packing—that will take five minutes, because basically I’ll just throw my clothes and laptop in my car and GTFO. But we’ve got less than two weeks left here now.
Really, we should be focusing our efforts on trashing the place, since I guess they’re going to be completely redoing it after we leave. It’s going to be—wait for it—a sober house. If it wasn’t going to be so fucking expensive, I’d suspect there might actually be a chance I’d end up here again someday.
We’re throwing a party for the townies on May 31, our last night here. They’re into it; they haven’t seen the inside of this place in, like, ever. We’re not inviting Daniel; shit just got too weird with him. I don’t know what he told the cops about the night Will died, but whatever he told them obvs wasn’t enough for them to leave Tanner alone.
People have been asking where I’m going to go. Back with my dad (damnit) at first, but then maybe somewhere else. Tanner’s getting a place with his friends in San Francisco, and they want me to move in with them, but that’s not going to happen unless the thousand-dollar fairy promises to visit me at least once a month.
I’ll go back to serving, maybe go back to school. I’ll figure some shit out. But I can guarantee you this: I’ll never write again.
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