Two women talk over each other under a concrete garage. Then stop. Take a drag. Then talk over each other again because this is normal conversation for them. They laugh, having two conversations all wrapped into the one. How can they hear what the other is saying? People understand in strange ways. Spot on. spot fucking on.
I walk through the mist. Not mist you can see. Mist you can feel. I thought it might be sunnier today. My bones are chilled. I see the sun sticking its finger through the pie. We are the filling. Cherry or chocolate or lemon. I like chocolate the best.
My soon to be not roomie asked my this morning if she looked crazy in pink tights. I told her to look at who she’s asking and then got dressed in more colors and layers today than the outside world is letting me see. I figured if I sat next to her looking crazier she wouldn’t feel so crazy. I got your back, girl.
Leave a Reply