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My feet were hot with sweat inside the vinyl booties of my one-piece jammies. The polyester stuffing of my too-hot McDonald’s comforter spilled loose from a tear in Grimace’s ass and chaffed my scalding cheeks. I didn’t stir, though. I was only four, but I knew that if I could stay hidden underneath the covers long enough, Dennis would come along. And then I would catch him, red-handed, peeing in front of my dresser.
That little boy was me. That little boy IS me.
Date Written: August 04, 2003
Average Vote: 4.5