Pink isn't feminine

|R|o|b|o|t|

As the weeks roll on and the months

are stretched thin, the food begins

to decrease, as it always has every December.

Jane decides to have a chat with me as I take a

smoke break. "You've been smoking more often."

her scottish accent makes a rare appearance, meaning,

she's genuinely concerned. "Don't worry your pretty head

over mundane things, Janey girl." I grunt, mocking sailers

who hit on her. "Are you actually gay, like the boys say?" She

slips the question in slyly, as usual. "And here, I was thinking you

were actually concerned for my health." I laugh, coldly, flicking

the remains of the cigarette into the puddle of the grey stone highway.

I leave her there, because, we aren't really made for talking to another.