(please don't bash on me. This is my opinion. If Ты don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all)



Duncan's P.O.V:

I sat on my couch. The Телевидение was small. My водка was piled up Далее to me. Ciggarettes came by package.
I am in New York City in my small apartment. Татуировки are lined up on my right arm, piercings on my face, a green mowhawk on my head (no black hair).
I missed my past. I was 16, and everyone loved me. Now,I'm just a low-life loser who's carrer is burgluring. I can't even get a girl.
When I tried to get Courtney, she rejected me. Rejected? She used to Любовь me! Gwen won't even sit Далее to me! Harold called me a druggie. I mean, I do drink and smoke, but I used to be tougher than him. Trent stabbed me in the arm. Nine times.
So I'm just rotting in this three room apartment over here.
The phone rang. I came to pick it up.
"Hello?"
"What, Betty?!"
"You have one день left to pay the electrical bill."
I hung up. I can't even afford to keep my apartment up and running.
Last night I forced a мотыга, мотыги to come in my house. I raped her. Thst's all I have to do to get a girl.
"You sonofabitch!" *slaps* "I never want to see Ты again!"
And she ran off.
Can Ты imagine my life? It's horrible here. I want to Переместить back to Muskoka. It was all good there.
How about your life?