I know you're a good boy, somewhere deep down in there. Under those strange hair colors and all the metal hanging off your face. I know it's there! It must be!
But don't you see, you can't go around always destroying things.
There has to be someone behind you to build them back up again.
Especially if you're not going to do it, and frankly sonny I don't think you know how.There I said it!
You only know how to tear down, maybe you need to go to back to an accredited learning institution.
Or maybe it's your parents fault, you know I always blame the mother.
I see you out there, driving so recklessly into the Harper's hedge, coming up onto my lawn that my dear departed (god rest his soul) sowed on his hands and knees and driving in horrid circles and just ruining everything!
Where is the kindness?
I just want to kill you with my bare old lady hands! Choke you until your eyes bug out and you beg me for mercy! Of which only god has the ability to bestow!
And then, I want to lie you down, very gently, on my very softest linoleum in the kitchen, and I want to tell you,
"-----, you are a good boy. You are. Even if no one else knows it ------, I do and I believe in you."
And then, if you're not really dead, I will make you some hot chocolate and we'll sit at the kitchen table and talk. About anything you want.
I know I'm a foolish old woman, but all I want is the opportunity to help. Is that so wrong?
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