I’ll drive like my grandma. I’ll drive like your grandma.””You wouldn’t say that if you knew my gramma.

Dig deep. Find your way to your soul.

Seventeen moons, seventeen years,Eyes where Dark or Light appears,Gold for yes and green for no, Seventeen the last to know.

If you could imagine the color of anger, it had been splashed over every wall. Rage, something dense and seething, was hanging from every chandelier, resentment woven into thick carpets padding the room, hatred flickering...