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Slack.com slash DHQ. Mrs. Lake is in the garden when I get home. She tries to grow vegetables.

It's one of those things adults do, pretend to be farmers. It's like you spend half your

life trying to learn to be a grown-up and how to do stuff like taxes and give oral presentations

on humulone, nimbus, clouds, and then you grow up and realize taxes suck and you're never

going to become a cloud so you decide to leave an a cave and be a hunter-gatherer. Except

you got no skills in that so you get a job in play pretend when you get home. She's

oblivious to me which is probably a good thing because if she tries to talk to me who knows

if my head is going to spin around or I'm going to vomit on her or something.

Herry inside upstairs and into my bedroom slamming the door behind me. Oh my god, I

punched him all. I punched my friend Jamal right in the face with my fist hand, my hand

fist. I punched him all in the face with my fist. He's probably thinking I finally

snapped. My dad he's crying because I got really soft hands and they're a little small

which is why my dad always said I was better off playing a little instrument like a tin

whistle and not trying to play the trombone or the piano but still I kind of suck her

punched him. I hope I didn't hurt him. I need to go back. What? Why? Fur fur asks. He's

hiding in the back of my brain. Her while he was in control. That's when he turned Mrs.

Donovan into a dog and let her eat Mrs. Clark before slicing off David's fingers. But

...