I get out and dry off as well before the guy who gave me the black eye comes up behind me and takes a towel, rolling it up and whipping it forward. I catch it before it hits me and turn around, facing the guy, "Get out of here, Sharp. I don't want any trouble."
He smiles cockily, "Don't think so, bird-boy."
I'm never what I like I'm double sided And I just can't hide I kind of like it When I make you cry 'Cause I'm twisted up, twisted up Inside
You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better. — Anne Lamott