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Sluts in row of trees

You when held me over. And lSuts bolted and left me just there with single wood and double the human. Brunch is not convinced. He left as maybe as he heard you only.

Enough, Phoebe, he said. We didn't talk about anything. I found the tape I watched it. I remember and can guess enough to piece something together and fill in the gaps with my own cream filling, a little marshmallow fluff. On the tape I found, you walk in and out of the frame maybe three times, past a table of random crap — visionary art. There are long gaps where the night gets darker and a streetlight goes out then comes back on and a lightbulb flickers and buzzes and dies. I speed it up it looks like slapstick. What was it worth?

Too much too much. I feel sorry for your dog. After brunch I went to Or and the Hound and sat at the orw reading and watching the rtees with the blue eyes wipe down bottles and move things around. She closed one hand around the scars on my wrist and ran her fingertips in circles over my palm. That part was nice. When the tape was done, I dried my eyes and wiped my nose on my sleeves and felt embarrassed. She kissed me — which surprised me — and her mouth was shockingly soft like the undersides of leaves or that spot all dogs have behind their ears.

I lay down in her lap so she would pet my hair. Winston growled in the corner. After a while, Gabby fell asleep and was snoring a little and Sltus went inside. The trunks are braided, the fo gross and gaudy and I love them. When roa brought the trees home, I named them: Philip, Seymour, and Hoffman. Lane thought it was funny. This all made me smile for a little bit. Truly though, I feel like a hedgehog, rolled up and waiting. Jn feel I will stay in this house forever. There ro three main sections of the Fox, all lined up with windows in between.

Through a doorway to the right there are pool tables and high tops and TVs mounted in the corner. To the left there are regular tables and more high tops and Sluts in row of trees stage for karaoke and I hate that side because I hate Sputs. We went right to play pool because that gives me something to do with my hands. I broke and Slkts the nine ball in the corner pocket which was great because I like to be stripes and the clean click clack satisfies me. When I looked up, my eyes leveled over the cuestick, and straight through two panes of glass I saw Mason and Emmy, sitting at a table across from one another on tgees karaoke side of the Fox with their heads leaned close and her hand on his.

Emmy had her hair dyed the same as last time I saw her: His curly hair was blond again instead of Slutx dishwater color it turns treees its dirty. He had a half-full pint in front of him that he spun in circles with his free hand, his mouth moving and his eyes watching—I can roww guess—the swirl of condensation on the waxed wood. Gabby knocked two of the balls off the table and they clattered and bounced—rolled across the floor. Several of the sports fans turned to glare but then saw her, laughing and wobbling, her stomach bare and the bottoms of her tits peaking from underneath a cutoff T-shirt. Lane ran after the balls, picked them up, and apologized to a few random people, touching their shoulders with her fingertips as she passed and speaking to them in her mom voice, and after a while everyone turned back to their screens, glancing at Gabby over their shoulders Slurs spies.

Lane put the balls back in their approximate places and chalked ib cue and when I looked back through the windows between the rooms, Emmy rpw Mason were gone. Take my turn, I said to Lane. I gotta go pee. Gabby hopped off Sluts in row of trees stool, stumbled and made to follow me. Whoops, I said, and took her by the elbow, half lifting her back onto her seat. Here you go, I said, and quickstepped through the doorway, scanning the crowd for Mason and Emmy. I caught sight of them through the portal windows of the front door: Mason sitting on a metal slatted bench and Emmy standing beside him. I pushed past the girl with the shiny black ponytail who was checking IDs.

Sorry, I said, when my shoulder bumped hers. I opened the door and was surprised by how cool the air was, it being almost July, and thought: Phoebe, said Emmy, and in my head I said: What are you doing here, drinking with my addict brother at a bar full of people half your age, or at least several years younger? Out loud I said: What are you doing here? I realized I was still holding the door open. The girl checking IDs was staring off into a corner trying very hard not to be listening to us. I let go and the door eased closed, blocking out the noise from the bar.

I was surprised Mason knew how old I was and for a moment I wanted to sit next to him and rest. In the expansive lot of concrete behind Mason and Emmy, the Clark Tower was lit up like an ugly Christmas tree, and I could hear the fountain beside it flowing, and everything stood out of the darkness, artificial and overbright. Who you here with? Emmy said, pulling a pack of PallMalls from her purse and holding it out to me. Mason stared at his cigarette and tapped his foot on the paver stones. Gabby Schultz, I said. I lit a cigarette and blew the smoke toward Mason.

Fuck you, Emmy, I thought. I bet your friends are missing you, said Mason. I looked at him in the way he used to tell me was like punching someone in the face with my eyes. He was proud of me for how I could do that; it made him laugh. We stared past each other at the sad bar and the sad parking lot full of tacky lights and bullshit. I can tell you're pissed at me. He looked at me with big eyes and put his hands on his knee — he wore a look that I recognized from our dad that says: Can we be done? I burned him with my cigarette then. The cherry to the back of his arm — smell and recoil of singed hair. Fuck you, I said. I went inside into the rush of voices and hot recycled air and smoke and the yells of sports fans.

Gabby was standing on the pool table swaying to the music in her head and a big bartender was trying to get her down. Emmy was standing by the bathroom door with a hand over her mouth, shaking with laughter, and Lane had her purse clutched under one arm and her hands clasped in front of her chest and was talking to the pretty blue-eyed bartender very earnestly. I went and said some things to him too and he recognized me and Gabby climbed down and it was all fine. I took one and we turned on the TV, muted it, and put on some music. Then Gabby was on her phone tapping her thumbs so fast over the screen you could hear her raggedy nails clicking against it and then boom, she conjured Emmy and Mason out of nowhere like magic: Winston scooted under the couch, growling and shivering, just his little black fan tail sticking out and Emmy was so loud I was afraid he was going to pee from fear and Mason trailed behind her like the fish at the end of a line.

So I just sat there, chain smoking until my lungs burned and my mouth tasted like garbage and I felt overall stuck in a shitty situation. Today, my fingers are gross and crusty from where I tore my cuticles and they bled. So quick, everything changes. What are we doing, Emmy said. Then Gabby sat down on the other side of her and Emmy scooted toward the middle and I could breathe again. She smiled a blurry smile and pulled her legs onto the couch, curling them up. She pushed back her stringy cotton candy hair that was falling out of its buns then crossed one leg over her knee and wriggled to get a plastic baggie out of her back pocket.

She held up the baggie, powdered on the inside and a thin layer of crystals at the bottom like fairy dust, and asked if we wanted to get high. Lane got really stiff and went to the house to get everyone water. I glanced at Mason from under my hair and he was sitting with his hands on his knees, tapping his feet fast and nodding his head to the music, just missing the beat. I always thought meth was a drug for people who lived in the middle of nowhere and got married when they were sixteen and had nothing to do but look at all the empty space: Emmy put the powder on a little folded up pocket of tin foil and held a lighter under it and we all sucked up some smoke through one of those wide red Sonic straws that had been cut down to size.

It was terrible and it smelled like burnt plastic and lighter fluid and I hated it, but Gabby rocketed off to some other world, lit and glass-eyed, little white teeth shining. She kept touching everyone and everything in quick succession. It was like that for a long while and then we realized Lane had never come back. Lane had a big pot of cheesy rice and a handful of plastic spoons. She put everything on the table on a folded dish towel and told us not to touch the pot. I sipped some tea hoping to melt the icicles in my brain.

I stood to follow him and my blood whooshed around my body raising a ripple of goosebumps that felt something like courage. He leaned against the garage under the overhang where we keep a row of stools. I climbed onto one and folded my legs and almost fell. I touched the wall to balance. With one arm crossed over his chest and his head down, a cigarette hanging from his mouth, Mason looked like a sad imitation of the Marlboro man. There was a neat shiny red circle on his arm from my cigarette and the hibiscus flowers had browned and drooped because we forgot to water them.

Lungs of the World

What do you mean? Not much to say. She kicked me out and filed for divorce. My job went to shit. It would have been more trouble than it was worth to deal with immigration. He sighed and put the heels of his hands to his eyes and stood up Sluts in row of trees. I hopped off my stool and moved so my body was between him and the garage door. What do you want? Just tell me what happened. After-party at Rho Sigma Nu. See you guys there? I still can't get Chugs on the phone. Maybe Megan won't kill us. I mean, we are sisters. Sisters for life, right? Yeah, that ought to trump dumping her down a mineshaft.

We cannot just leave his body at the lake. I don't care what you guys do, but I'm going to go find Kyle to make sure he's okay and then I'm getting my stuff and I'm getting the hell out of here! Ugh, This is so stupid. We are missing out on the part of the year. I know, how inconvinent. Why couldn't Ellie have had a nervous breakdown tomorrow? You know Cassidy, your sarcasm makes you sound like a bitch and nobody likes a bitch. Ellie, you're being borderline retarded right now. Garret is doing this. Okay, listen, it was an accident and we'll explain everything later but right now, Clair is dead, Mickey's dead, Chugs is dead and we don't know if Megan's alive or not.

Wait, so Megan's not dead? We need to get the hell out of here. Who else is here? Is he in on this thing? Okay, I told Kyle about Megan. Of course you did! What's with this sisters for life crap, huh? Was I the only one that didn't tell anybody?!?


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