Marcus Jackson

I knew a boy named Shaun whose mother loved successive men that charmed and tortured her. One day in ninth grade Shaun brought a luminous hunting knife to lunch and put it near the throat of the dean, who had always seemed the wryest, most unmovable force as he supervised and distrusted us for no

You can cry quite long in a diner without much interruption, assuming the diner is only moderately populated, the décor is outdated and immaculate, and you are capable of the type of crying during which tears do not disrupt your posture. You must hold inside a muscular sorrow and a sense of endurance for torture