I decided to take a stroll through the park to clear my head. Mr. and Mrs. Muffin (as I call them behind their backs) clearly don't like me. A fifteen year old sleeping in their living room is shitty, yes, but they're all I have against sleeping under a bus bench.

Okay, I know how this sounds. Why don't you live with your parents? Well, this is a long story, but I'll try to shorten it.

I was born to a loving mom and dad, who cared about me and all that shit, until I was seven. My dad got addicted to fucking heroin, and my mom became a drunkard who would leave her beer bottles for me to clean up. It all went undetected until I was twelve, and my father was arrested for selling cocaine by the ounce. Then, last year, my mom got arrested for child abuse and for not one, not two, but SEVEN DUI's. So, I ran off before the cops or DHS could find me. Muffin let me live with him, and his shitbag parents were okay so long as I slept in the living room, was up by seven, and out of the house by eight. Then, I could only come back at 4:00 and stay out of the way.

Now if I could find a small job or volunteer place maybe I could sleep in the basent.