sitting in motor the day after the party at estee’s, you’re sat on the carpeted floor by fourth grade’s and ray’s shoes, watching whatever shitty clip is playing on mtv.

a lady who seems to be in her mid 30s comes storming in, pulling sunburn along by his arm. she begins going in on all of you, ordering to not give her son drugs or alcohol. fourth grade cluelessly asks a question pertaining to last night,

“is she mad about the fingering?”