They held hands before the snow fell. She’s dark and heavy in the winter. Twenty five dollars and then some. She felt her back tremble, her body naked against the windowpane. The smell from it lingers and he asks why she smells like Pez.
He spits his chewing tobacco on the ground between I love yous. She can’t remember the last time his mouth wasn’t full of shit.
She was light in the spring and didn’t like to be alone, but she was never alone; she slept on a hard mattress that left bruises on her hips. They kept her company. She was there in a dream, with a blurry face and tattered shoes and slender denim. There is rapport, folks. The good team won. The harder she stared at me, the harder I moved. The sky dripped white and she got splattered. She had to walk down the stairs with wet feet. Hot feet, ready to jump. Ready to drown.
You heard me talk about my shoulders. Not fair. I only saw yellow. I hate three. Let me sleep. We’ll meet at the white. Will you know me? You were born before me.
She picked at the glowing red muffins, sprawled out on her sofa. She’s glad she got away from the glass and the coffee. She slept like a baby, woke up too early, and bawled her eyes out all night. Everything falls at eight AM. She felt bigger because she was. Seven days is far too long to be heavy.
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