I was at the office today; well, not office, more like garage. I was fixing Mrs. Sanchez’s old and beat up little Ford car. It was hacking like a cat with a furball, and the smoke it discharged turned my face black, making me look like a chimney sweep.

Anyways, as I was saying, I had leaned way, way over to fix this one tiny little problem in the transmission, when I hear a screech that sends me very damn well through the hood of the car.

I turn around, and rubbing my head, I see a lady trying to take her bag away from the grimy hands of a thug. Sounds cliche, non?

As unbelievable as it may seem, I, Sally Hayes, went up and bonked the thug soundly on the head with my wrench. He was out like a light; how the wrench penetrated that brick-like skull of his, I have no idea. But it did the job, and that’s what mattered.

This is the first time I’ve written in my diary. While I was sitting here, musing about today, I just found this diary I had gotten for my sweet 16.

Well, it’s been put to use, hasn’t it?