Found my old high school yearbook while digging for smokes. 18-year-old me was a shy, quiet virgin with dreams of being a florist. Look at me now: a 42-year-old hag with a dried-up cunt and a beer gut, whose biggest ambition is finding a man who can fuck me hard enough to make me forget my name for five minutes. Sometimes I wonder what that girl would think if she saw me now. She’d probably be horrified. But you know what? At least I’m honest. At least I know what I want—a rough fuck, a good laugh, and someone who doesn’t fall asleep the second the TV goes off. Nostalgia’s for suckers. The past is dead. Pass me a beer.