BD talks.

I choke on your fatalism and storied pain.

I ought to be calm, composed and relaxed. This, however, promises to be too much. It hurts when somebody older than you pour their troubles on you and expect you, with the barest measure of wisdom, to be able to imbibe all of it without bursting.

Right now, all I really want to do is bite into something.

Our maid left us yesterday. It's funny how I can get sentimental about things like this. The new maid is slow, timid and...slow.

This had better work out.

I need solace.

C'est tout.