It's Friday morning. I'm pretty down. The last two days we've dropped the Connor at some place they call work. He fixes these big red and yellow things that rise up in the sky. I think they call them helicopters or choppers.
They're loud and smell bad.
I'm sitting on his seat here. It smells like him and is warm too. The mum says it's heated and it's leather and I shouldn't be on it. I don't really care. I just want the Connor to come back.
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