I go back to check when she tweeted. Thirteen minutes ago. I decide to send her a direct message.
When you make some confession at thirteen to a total stranger you never imagine at some point in the future that innocent confession will be the beginning of the end.
Petra, was her name. I meet her at the streets months after our house was burned down. I was angry and mourning. I just needed to let it all out. She was a meth addict, never sober. I told her everything, she nicknamed me sourhoney. I just needed someone to talk to and I was sure she would not remember the next day. And there's only one way to see if she remembers. I message her; Do you remember me?
The reply is instantly, of course, sourhoney.
Oh s**t!
"We are almost done," Quinn says to me. I shake my absent mindedly foc
