Dec. 4: Electric Angel

 I don’t know if I’m him. I used to think I was. I jokingly say that I am 17% him. What I do know is that he lives with me always, even though I haven’t written a word for him all year.

I know I will though. In the end, I might be the only one who cares.

Every year on his birthday, I write about him. It is getting boring for my readers. I am sorry.

There was a man sitting at the picnic table. 

The boy didn’t like it.

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