Nothing is cruel as the frank cries of children. I am old, yes. My balding head and my wrinkled face should evoke nothing but respect as they're signs of maturity but apparently for kids nowadays they're reasons to mock. They even called my house haunted. It is worn down, yes. But, I don't hear my real estate agent coming over to complain in the same way. Yet here, this freckled kid in front of me stands petrified and stumbles as he tried to inch backwards. I reach for his hand.
Shoot, I keep on forgetting that I'm dead.
Shoot, I keep on forgetting that I'm dead.
