And look at this dump.
She kept you in this place.
Christ and crackers, the bugs.
You know, I had one in my hair.
No shitting.
Woke up with one of those big motherfuckers.
To this, she pointed towards the wall, where a thumb-sized roach rested uncaringly on a picture frame.
In.
My.
Hair.
Hey, you remember my old apartment, kid?
Remember how we used to play music on that shitty boombox?
Those were the days, right?
You should have seen me, Lance.
I was a looker.
Tell him, kid.
Tell him your mom was a looker.
The good lady, I said wistfully, inching closer to her, around her.
The boombox.
You called her the good lady.
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