There is a girl sitting at the back of the class.
No one really knows her name. They think it's something like Lydia. They're close.
She doesn't care.
Or she does.
But either way, she'll never tell.
No one really talks to her. They think she'd be kind of drab. They're far off.
She still doesn't care.
That's for sure.
Because she still wears the same old wool sweaters, day after day.
The same holey leggings.
The same tattered Converse.
Ask her about herself.
Do it.
Dare you.
Talk to Lydi Stern.
YOU ARE READING
cigarette daydreams
Short Story"hey - lydi, got a light?" "literally, metaphorically, or spiritually? because i have none." "that's a bit gloomy, don't you think?" "it's punk rock."
