What You Looking At, Steinbeck?

Less shitty day today, primarily because as I age, I find it far less satisfying to wallow in my own self-depricating pile of pity. Also, this:

Whatever. I'd totally be her BFF.

Have I mentioned that I’m writing a short story about a family in the dust bowl? I am. I mean, sure, it’s been done — but c’mon Steinbeck, that all you got?

Don't be sad, Becks. Don't be creepy.