C17 SHE

I did not particularly like being called a wuss, but I hated it even more now that it was coming from me, a drunk me, but me nonetheless, it was my subconscious calling me a wuss anyway.

My own handwriting mocked me as I stared at the sheet of paper. I could almost see me drunk laughing at sober me, along with the rest of the world. Gregory’s words float back to me. Robot. Fresh clay