1990

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I searched for him (well, one of them) on social media. I wanted to see him happy – despite 1990.

I wanted to see that he’d done well…Improved…

…Corrected…atoned for 1990.

Perhaps I’d find that the girls I’d wished upon him in 1990 had daughtered themselves into existence.

Perhaps a wife – a woman who’d taken him on, along with his past…a woman who’d forgiven him for me, for 1990.

But no: I found a wifeless, kidless, toad-bellied rapey gobshite wearing the same rapey expression he’d worn in rapey 1990. The same rapey face. The same rapey attitude conveyed through the same rapey eyes. He probably sends rapey dick pics now, too, with the same rapey dick.

I looked into RapeFace and saw that this was not the outcome I’d wanted; neither in 1990, nor today.

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