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The story is simple.
Depressed boy meets crazy, possibly legally insane, girl at therapy and their whirlwind adventure begins.
Korin and Micha had only one thing in common: they had each discovered the...
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What to accomplish today:
Watch the Boondock Saints
Be in two places at once
Carjack someone and chop up a hooker up with a chainsaw...Play Grand Theft Auto
Make it through therapy
Micha had a horrific, troubling, traumatizing, and bloody past. Her father dying unexpectedly, finding her mother's body and staying with it for days as a child until someone found her, was enough to cause anyone to go crazy! I thought she was faring rather well considering. I was up all night trying to figure out what exploits she has in store for us that day. We'd meet up at therapy, which should be amusing to say the least, and then we had the rest of the day to get into trouble. I wondered if she is dressing the part. With her you never knew.
As I brushed my teeth I looked at the crumpled napkin taped to my bathroom mirror. I didn't know why Micha threw it away, it was impressive for a pen on napkin drawing: John and I were sitting in front of her drinking coffee, but the amount of detail as amazing. John had angel wings and a halo—it totally fit him—and I had horns and a tail, a little demon on earth—it fit since meeting Micha. I spent more time in the bathroom than usual, fighting with my hair, trying to get it to do something other than just lay there. It was a battle I would lose, so I said screw it and let it do its own thing; half Irish-half Japanese hair never did what you wanted it to: rebel like a drunken Irishman or lay down flat like a Japanese anime school girl, those were the options. I had never given a damn about what I wore before, ever, and when you're a band geek midget like me, in essence, you typically stood out like a sore thumb so whatever you wore categorized you into a nerd stereotype, but I had a girl to impress now.
At least I hoped I did.
I threw some comfortable clothes on: distressed Levis, vintage-styled Beastie Boys ringer, Chuck Taylors, and a hoodie.
"Can I drive today?" I asked when I joined Dad in the dining room where he is reading the newspaper.
"Why?" he asked but didn't look up to regard me while he read, coffee cup in one hand, plate of dry toast in front of him.
My lack of an answer prompted him to regard me.
"I've never seen you excited to go to therapy before, are you having a break through?" he asked, sounding insultingly indifferent.
Most parents would have been happy to ask that. But no, not my dad; not father of the year.
"Is it because of a girl?" he asked, giving me a look.
"Not at all, Father," I said just as indifferent. "I had a breakthrough, didn't the good doctor tell you? I'm a flaming homo!" I proclaimed then started sashaying around the dining room with one hand on my hip and the other waving through the air while I turned as if I was on a catwalk. "I love men. Cock is all I can think about. MEN, COCK, MEN and more COCK! Maybe I have daddy issues? Do you think that's it?" I asked in the most flamboyant voice I could muster.
