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pumps, make coffee and hot dogs. Three
weeks and three days of Kevin’s leers
[not to mention “accidental” gropes]
and semirude comments about
the growing appeal of my shrinking
behind. It even looks good covered
by a smock! A nasty green smock,
over looser and looser jeans.
Not that I’ve been into the monster—
not much, anyway. I only have a tiny bit
left, and I haven’t looked to score
more. I only take a quick toke or two
when Hunter doesn’t sleep through
the night and I have to be at work
by seven. Quarter till, actually, but I rarely
punch in before 7:03 or 7:04.
The job isn’t bad, actually. Not great.
Not life-changing. But not as boring
as I thought it would be. At least
it’s around people. Some I even know.
Old classmates. Old teachers. [Really
old, most of them.] Old party pals.
And hey. Tomorrow is my first paycheck.
How will I celebrate? Hmm.
I have definitely vacillated about
scoring again. I want to. Don’t want to.
Need to. Can’t. Bree is screaming
for the monster. Kristina keeps trying
to say no. But somewhere deep inside
she thinks Bree will win.
