Dear Lunch,
You were good today, but sadly, not THAT good. Please stop sending me flying into the restroom every thirty minutes. How long does it take to get rid of you? It’s not like I’m at home. Can’t you see I’m at WORK? Oh, you’ve got to be shitting me . . .
And you, dear Sweater with the tie that hangs down the back: why was I wearing you
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Scallops with lemon butter sauce over rice.
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