Thursday, November 1, 2012 at Starbucks
A Dictionary of Literary Terms
Candace, she had on ugly waist-high sweatpants with a towel holding her hair up in a turban.
She was saying something about her wisdom teeth while sucking on a red lollipop. I had no idea what she was saying. I mean, I know she was saying something about the teeth, and I could understand her, but I was busy looking at the girl, disaster at best, and I couldn’t focus on anything else.
She was sweet, had nice enough skin–save for a few scars that never healed, you could tell she was a picker back in high school, eye makeup left on from the night before. I didn’t know why I was standing in her living room, except because of the universe’s way of notifying me that I no longer, and without pause, had any care left for this girl. I was there, it was raining. She was already dressed in something more comfortable, not that she had anything better to to change into. It was strange that though I found myself repulsed by her and the mundane mumbleings coming out of her mouth, I was also being drawn in…