For one, yeah, I love talking, and I was really bored. But I wanted something from him. I wanted this guy to make it seem like I wasn’t exactly where I was, working the job I was. I wanted to express: I just work here as an after school job. I am smart. I am going to be a great American writer.
When I saw your body on the street, it was like a sick joke. A student art project. The reissued cover of a DeLillo novel. I was positive of things, of details, of plot points. I repeated them inside my own head like a list, taking time to give each item necessary weight and duration.
On first dates, you usually say something neutral but deeply insecure, like, “Yeah, all of my friends work at startups,” or “Remember Duke Nukem? Great game. Never played it, but great game.”
You got your ears pierced at the Icing and shoplifted training bras from Limited Too. Your older sister Misty (or Krystal) had a long-term boyfriend who picked you up from school in a van. He once touched your boob at a Mighty Mighty Bosstones concert.