Or the account of my decline into barbarism (and all of the lovely, mad people who helped me do it).

Monday, April 12, 2010

Phone Number

I'm sitting, drinking black coffee at 11:11 PM. Make a wish. Fuck that. Make a change.

Let's start over. I'm sitting here with some random boy's number scribbled on my hand. He stopped me while I was pumping gas and told me I was beautiful.


"Not anymore." I said, grinning.

"Here's my number. Call me?"

"Hmm." Nope.

The attention was nice, much-needed after the recent plummet in my confidence. Still, I will not resort to picking up boys at gas stations.

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