Does anyone actually give a fuck about the author? Doubtful. But here we are.
I was born, I lived, and I went to school to get a degree that I don't use. I’ve got a real job that funds my crippling addiction to notebooks, art supplies, and overpriced coffee that I pretend helps me write faster.
I currently reside in an undisclosed location where summers are hot, winters are cold, and my right hip pops every time I walk like I’m 85. It’s fine.
Oh! I also like food, and I breathe air (like constantly). It's such an annoying tick.
Still reading? Why? Go read my books instead. They're way more interesting than I am.
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