stoned, after her morning sulk that lasts the afternoon and through half the night, she wanders down to the 24-7 at the cinema square. the air is cold and her t-shirt and shorts leave her naked, she has visions of a red brassiere hanging on the insides of her bathroom drawer where her roommate is, while sitting on a closed toilet seat fellating the ball of acne, fat and cum she calls Boyfriend.
she sits there, as the light on the reefer twiddles to nothing, she holds it down and looks at it for a few minutes, taking in the fact that the light won't come back on, that the grades on her last semester papers won't change (could she fuck her way through...what about the women, damn, too many women), that there's a bunch of school kids looking at her like she's a slut.
'light', says a voice next to her. she turns to see that it is a gargoyle, misshapen, holding up a lighter in a hand with an extra thumb.
'thanks', she says, and lights her baby.
she has visions of him on her with his pants down, moving in hard and clumsy fits. it is moist there. she'd do it for the sheer hurt of it.
as she recovers, she notices he is gone.
his lighter, still in her hand, says clipper in a cheap blue plastic case.
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