Dylan
I can’t believe my eyes as I enter the kitchen. Amina is mumbling something with her forehead against the work surface, and around her there is all hell gone lose. Bags, dishes, mixers, flour, eggshells and all kinds of s**t, scattered. Plus, there is a suspicious burnt smell in the room.
“What the hell is going on here? Good God, Amina. What the f**k has happened to my kitchen?” I step inside. She looks up cautiously without lifting herself from the counter.
There is alarm in her eyes, her hair is twisted into a messy knot at the top of her head, her nose and forehead are covered with flour, and an unidentified pink liquid is dripping from her fingers. The floor is chaotic. No, to be more specific, my kitchen which was perfectly clean before, is chaotic. I’m close to getting a he
