We all have sob stories. Fuck us. It's a requirement for this god forsaken job. We all have fucking sob stories.
Something about this little trip of August's has got me all introspective. I hate that, I hate it so fucking much. I'm never introspective. Can't afford to be.
I miss Adam, the little shit. He was always so fucking happy, until the end. That's what really killed me, watching my stupid kid brother wither and fucking die. He was so damn sad and small in that hospital bed. He looked at me, could barely fucking talk but he managed to whisper something in my ear, 'run Mandy, run from the tree man' He would've been 11.
Like I said, I hate being fucking introspective. I made us change hotels, the other one gave me bad vibes. Made my fingers feel all numb and fucking cold. Can't fucking stand the cold, the cold is His.
And we picked up a surprise while trying to find another hotel. Found Spence on a street corner, covered in blood and muttering to himself. Don't know if the blood is his or some poor fucking sap's, not that it matters. We hauled his ass into the van because fuck we can't leave him there. He's curled up in the corner of our new hotel room and won't fucking speak. How the mighty have fucking fallen.
I hate this fucking trip, but I can't let August down. Fuck, I've let too many people down already.