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I wonder how it must be like for my father, to be talking to my mother on the phone, being all funny and making jokes and shit while knowing that the daughter who’s now grown up and has never seen the face of her father is sitting in the other room. Does he think of the times he refused to talk to me? Or does he just remember the love of his life and how he lost her and not the daughter he’s only ever held once? I’d like to know what that man is thinking.
This country desperately needs feminism. It’s hotter than frigging Arizona here and I get stared at for the way I dress. Literally every guy almost breaks their neck trying to turn around to look at my ass. I can’t even smoke while outside because the mindset here tells guys that they can just approach and buy me because smoking a cigarette out on the street means that I’m a prostitute. Jesus fuckig Christ. Manners, people. Manners.
I remember now why I never wanted to come back to this place and these people.