Background checks can’t be counted on for shit.

My inbox starts shivering and just as I’m about to heat things up twenty visitors stand at the door asking who wrote the letter.

I look up and even though no one’s there know who wrote the letters. Me. Immediately I run to the bathroom fuming cause I told her not to send them until I reviewed the accompanying message. 

It’s not too late to move to India and become a seamstress. I head back and research flights. Is that where there are 13 months of work? I draw my treehouse. 

Two hours later I take off my clothes and answer the door.