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a baggy shirt that covers
my tummy, and for the first
time in months, a little makeup.
Robyn Greets Trey
With a massive, soggy kiss,
one meant to impress.
(But impress him or me?)
All I get is a lukewarm,
Hey, Kristina. Long time
no see. You look good.
No hug? No warm, fuzzy
friendship to rekindle? Oh, well.
Not like we were ever the best
of friends. More like snorting
buddies. She used me. I used
her, and I’m using her now.
“You look great too, Robyn.”
Yeah. Great. Like bones,
in a bag of jaundiced skin.
Robyn opens the door.
Sorry about the mess.
I’ve been kind of busy.
Anyway, housework is
such a waste. It never
frigging ends, does it?
The smell—dirty ashtrays,
sweat, and a slight hint
of mildew—almost knocks
me over and I enter at my
own risk. “Mess” does not
