There’s this friend of my mom and stepdad, up in Kitimat. Named Gerry. I hate him. Because every once in a while, I get a phone call. Yesterday, I got 2, both in the form of voicemail: I just wanted to let you know that I am about to have a gigantic piece of your mother’s apple pie. Why don’t you go open a box of Kraft Dinner or something. (Half an hour later) That was the best pie I have ever tasted. The facts that my mother bakes apple pie for him, and she or my stepfather gave this

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