Bum in my own house.

Behind, close the door, pulling off shoe. Step in.

"You know that guy? In your uncle's mill?"
"Huh? yes"
"He died, everyone fell into that well"
"What?"
"Do you know who I am talking about?"
"Yes"

Go grab an orange. It wasn't sweet, bitter.

I'm usually dead cold about deaths, I never knew them, don't really feel a thing. Never talked to them, never ate by them, never had them tell me about mangos, never never never. Ha, this one is different, just a bit. Family friend, but I knew him. It's the first time in my life, I think, that someone has died, and I actually feel odd. It's a sad story, I keep sad stories, so no.

I think I've reached that point. Where, people will die. I will have known them.

School? It was peachy. I slept all over the house, err, I'm tired. So drained. I had something to say, doesn't seem like the perfect time. I'll forget, I'll remember.