a) someone needs to give me Jay-Z’s memoir for my birthday

b) im writing mine this summer, why a sock drawer only fucks you in the end OR how alcoholism taught me to live with one hand. i have hopes of spending my time off from being a farm laborer writing a masterpiece instead of drunk driving. all i know is the son of some surgeons from connecticut that live in northfield in a house with high ceilings on like 53 acres of land half of the year have a son that’s going to china to write his so, why not?