I like to say to people that I’m hood. In fact, when Ezra recently told me ‘Hood Morning (that’s how we greet in the hood)’, I felt quite happily gangster. But I must say – I’m not hood. Neither am I gangster. Neither am I street. I like to believe that the reason I try to associate myself with being ‘tough’ is because I never really experienced hardship. I never
12 December, 2013 Hey Babe, I can’t believe I’m writing this letter. Two years
How did I get to be in this place, at this time, for this reason? We are about 6 girls now. We are basically girls. The oldest of us would probably be that girl sitting at the far end of the bench opposite mine, reading a Joyce Meyer book (very inappropriate for the moment except she’s desperately looking for some conviction and last minute excuse to get out of here).
*Hello people, this is another ‘One Pic; a Thousand Stories’ post. Remember; you can send in your own interpretation of the picture to firstname.lastname@example.org* ‘I love you no matter what you do, but do you have to do so much of it?’ Those were the words James had scribbled in the card he thrust into my hand. I read them, rolled my eyes and said (exaggerating concern) ‘She cheated again?’