The Floormate

“No. Those fucking punk kids that attacked you. Where’s your friend?”

“He’s back at the dormitory.”

The old man shook his head. “Your friend should be in the hospital.”

My right fist tightly curled up. I wanted to hit anything, even this old man.

“Probably,” I said.

“Look. A bad day notwithstanding, you’re healthy. Cheer up.”





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This is me: home-writer, book-reader, dog-lover and occasional poet. I make this website to share my and my friends texts with You, dear Reader. Please: read carefully, don't be scary, upgrade your mood and be king and leave your comment. :)