novembre ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- short fists and a sieve old nylony nightgowns worn over old navy pajama pants the pants are for added warmth and coverage when i sit down in case anybody looks at that space between my legs that most fat girls do not even acknowledge heather is on a call in the next room, her she-male chick with a dick character and jen wood is on the tiny aged boom box this cd i have not played in years, i like it sounding quietly and airy in the background it makes the acid in my stomach feel like calming down the acid reflux has reached my ears. they pop occasionally, not due any sound barriers collapsing but an evil throat. i am feeling very unsexy today. usually the bombshell hairdo is some sort of an uplifter but flippy follicles can only do so much. on errands with the kids and rosa in the van, alma and i stood outside next to a pay phone and talked about public affection. she was telling me that i didn't have to accept my body to fall in love, i didn't belive her, when tiny ricky got out of the van in search of restroom solace. church's chicken's women's was in order only so we sashayed our mighty hips as he blushingly walked into the bathroom, slamming the heavy door behind. "we should baracade the door as a joke," i told alma. she took a few steps towards the bathroom conspiratorily and then stopped. looked at me. "if we did that, he'd break the door. literally, break it off its hinges." ricky is barely five feet tall, barely a hundred pounds. i believe her. 8:17 pm - 03.08.02 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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