After Braddock Beach’s finest pulled me over yesterday (and gave me a ticket for no seat belt — which I had taken off to reach across to the glove box to get my g.d. registration out) — I parked at the beach and cried for a very long time.

Well, maybe 20 minutes, till the skies opened up and I got soaked.

The sun came out as I screeched out of the lot. And it stayed out, even as the strawberry moon rose.

I went home and buried my nose in a book about plane crashes. I finished it after midnight.

Woke up about 30 times not due to the terrorist upstairs, but I kept seeing that cop’s smug face. Like, hahaha, so you didn’t think your Father’s Day could get worse you fatherless girl? Here’s an extra-special fuck you.

Honest to God, how many more signs do I need that I need to get out of here? Because I don’t think I can take anything else. I really don’t.

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