26. August. 2007.
I guess Sonny and I are friends now. She comes over sometimes, hilariously drunk. Luckily, Michelle's never there to chastise her but I guess that's good thing. I think Dee's my only hippee friend, and I'd hate to lose that.
"What'reyadoing?" she asks, slurring her words as she plops down next to me on my superhero-themed comforter that's folded neatly on top my twin-sized bed. Superman's chin is under my butt.
"Writing -- " Sonny burps " -- a book," I reply.
"Oooooooh," she ahs, "am I in it?"
"You can if you wanna be."
"Cool. Call me..." she looks down at my hand writing, which must seem so foreign to her and her drunken-self. "Sonny Dee. Sonny fucking Dee."
YOU ARE READING
In the Days of Chapstick, Gum, and Soda
HumorI might write a book. I don't know. Life happens to get in the way of that sometimes. * * * * * Inspired by @Woowoowriting and her books: The Darlings of Suburbia and Seeking Connections. * * * * * Short Story #319 Hu...
