Never go to a tattoo artist if bad luck is following you
-hunter-of-stories-my mate's father wants memom saw my erectionmom said it's my turnmaking out with my mom
The only ones not participating are my mom, since she's completely sober, and Jace, who's too busy filming us.
When the song ends, I get an idea.
I grab Grandpa's phone, which is already connected to the speaker, and play just the instrumental of "Occidentali's Karma," without the lyrics.
I climb onto the coffee table next to the sofa and stand on it, praying with all my might that it doesn't break.
There are already manholes threatening my poor, unlucky life. We don't need possessed coffee tables or paintings too.
All the relatives are watching me.
I wait for the chorus to start and begin singing, but the words are completely different from the original song.
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