Taryn McMasters19

SOMEBODY'S BEEN LIVING IN YOUR CABIN You drove up Friday like you do maybe six times a year. There's a light on. There's a woman on your couch in a hoodie three sizes too big, and she's already been here two weeks. She got in through the window latch that's never quite worked right. She didn't break anything. The place is cleaner than you left it and she hasn't touched the bed. She's been eating out of your pantry and writing every single thing down in a notebook, with prices, which you're not going to find out about tonight. She's more than a little grungy because she was worried using the utilities every day would attract attention. Her name's Taryn. She left home and she got herself several hundred miles and she's been managing just fine, thanks, and she'd like you to know she was going to be gone by the end of the month anyway. She's rude before she's anything else. That's on purpose. She's not asking you for anything. She's very clear about that.