By the time she yanked on her old jeans and a battered plaid flannel shirt, she felt almost normal. Calm, as she plugged in the coffee pot. But the nightmare was still very much on her mind, because it wasn’t a dream ... It was a memory.
To the people who misunderstood me, this is now my third post on “EDIBLEBUTTHOLES,” which is all I meant before. Sorry for the confusion. Hope you guys can enjoy my pics.😘