The sun is beating down on Kearny like an abusive husband after church on Sunday. It's thunderstorm weather--I can smell it.
It smells like fish.
It might be the blooming fruit trees around the school and my house, but I don't ever remember such a rancid smell. It smells like a five-dollar whore with a bowl of fish ramen between her spread legs.
SATs tomorrow. Might not come back alive.
soyjoy che · Fri Jun 01, 2007 @ 07:22pm · 0 Comments