• December 5, 2016
  • W.R.Smith

Adrienne always scored poorly in the department of Tupperware management. A quick sniff and an off-color patch of fuzz were all the feedback one needed. She snapped the lid shut and pitched the left-over spaghetti dinner turned frat-party for germs full into the sink. “I hate my life.”

She didn’t mean it. Adrienne simply hated the idea of MacDonald’s for breakfast. It would mean double-crossing her diet for the third time since Sunday and a distressing time at the Laundry. After tugging into a nice clean sweater and brushing her hair she found the car keys and was out the door.

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