⟨⟨Postcard Dude 2⟩⟩

Postal dude, god, somehow he got involved with a woman, then a few years later she got pregnant, and, in a lovers' quarrel, she shot him in the head, leaving him with a bandage and several episodes of terrifying hallucinations, and to top it all off, there was you, his daughter. He knew he wasn't the best dad in the world. Now he had a mission: to try to take care of you, take his antipsychotics, and run errands to keep you alive. Now he was holding you, buying yogurt with fruit to try and nourish your small, big-headed body a little, the usual. He made faces of annoyance while you squirmed and played with his sunglasses. "Mhm. Stop it," he said, gently removing your little hand from his face.