That skinny looker from Greenland? Kinda flirty? I’m old enough to be her ataata. She taught me that word over daiquiris.
Left everything for some internet poker whiz who dumped her after nine weeks. But she’s determined to stay.
Everything’s new here. Fruit. Vegetables. Sunlight year-round.
She grew up eatin’ polar bears with drunks. Even worse: her low-life biological ataata routinely touched her utsuut.
She taught me that word too—then passed out in my tent.
“We’ll share my disability, okay? I’ll be your sugar ataata. I got no manly urges anymore.”
Truth is, a roadside bomb took ’em in Iraq.