personality feelings beating

Support Beats Addiction, My Mom Would Say

I’d wait for my mother to fall asleep. A bit past midnight and in between the silence, I would sneak my way out of the room, shot glass in hand.

We lived behind a bakery — my mother’s third attempt at a business — and in that small shop we sold various breads and pastries.

Among which had a special ingredient, at least special enough for me: Rum. I’d sit at the bottom of the shelf where we’d keep stocks of bottled inventories and pour myself an almost full shot.

The website is an aggregator of articles from open sources. The source is indicated at the beginning and at the end of the announcement. You can send a complaint on the article if you find it unreliable.

Related articles