Killing me softly with my words

     I’m sorry but I can’t write anything anymore. I’ve just learned that texts have a nefarious tendency to become parricidal. It sounds like yellow journalism I know, but seriously there was this guy in Schenectady; they found him on the floor of the Laundromat and the laundry list was nowhere to be found. They could never prove the case, but really if the list had nothing to hide why did it run? I have to stop, I think I may have gone too far already. If you need me I’ll be in protective custody.