“Martha! Martha! MARTHA!!! MARTHA!!! MARTHA!!!!!”
“Just stop, you guys. I barely finally got to sleep.” It’s been rough. As soon as my head hits the pillow, I go to sleep for three hours and then I wake up and THINK for three more… This is partly a summer thing, but mostly it’s the fucking state of the world…
“But MARTHA!!!! This is really serious!!!!!!! There’s a GUY doing stuff on OUR PORCH!!!! OUR porch!!! MARTHA!!!!”
I get up after another almost sleepless night. I open the front door and check the box (a Barkbox with the word “bread” written on it in red colored pencil) I left out the night before. Inside is a loaf of cinnamon raisin bread. In a waxed paper bag is little cinnamon roll from Tumbleweed Bread (which is literally next door).