at a house party, some friday night in january.
“no smoking in the house,” they said, “but you can out there” my gaze drifts to the open door, smoke spilling out into the next room. it mingles with led lights. swirling blue and purple in the hazy air.
i’m perched on the edge of the couch, in the corner by the door. my belt is too tight now that i’m sitting. i feel it dig into the thin skin that stretches across my hipbones. my mouth is dry, and my head is spinning a little.
i curled my hair tonight, and wore lingerie with my carhartt jacket. i am 19 years old and sometimes i remember i am pretty.
