I don’t want to be here, Caleb was going to cook and then I was going to thank him profusely. I even bought wine. If people are onions then Cleo is the part that makes you cry. Honestly, I don’t know why I let her do this to me, she’s not even grateful. I’m giving up my Saturday night to stare at some guy trussed up like an H.R. Geiger nightmare, his face all cartoon eggplant purple-blue and impolite extremities, even for a dead man, inappropriately stiff. If I hadn’t thrown up already I would vomit with rage.

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