*male writer voice*

*male writer voice* i don’t remember her name. it’s not important. i met her at a supermarket and she went home with me because i offered to buy her cigarettes. she had amazing perky breasts. we drank cheap wine and had sex three times that night and then she told me she wanted to be a mosquito because they were free. i slept with her many times after that. but one day she stopped returning my calls and i don’t know why. that was seven years ago. on monday she got hit by a BRT and died. i saw it in the news so i went to her funeral and it made me sad. i don’t know why. i hate my father even though he pays my rent while i write poetry about masturbating in the shower