Depravity

“Have you ever designed your own piece of jewelry, Ali?” That question still makes me laugh. Because it was the stupidest fucking question anyone has ever asked me and just conveys how different the world I am in now is. These crazy asses actually think that I am the kind of person who has ever had the kind of money to design my own piece of jewelry. But they don’t know me and its better that way. Sometimes I have the urge to scream to them, “Im white trash!” or even better, to roll down the window, scream that AND blast Lynard Skynard and step on the gas. But instead I study them, I look at their fingernails, I try to figure out their highlights, I examine the rims of their sunglasses to see what looks most expensive. Am I quick study? No, its taken me years. But I am kind of sick of being someone I am not. I am bored.

“shut the door!” She grinned at me maniacally in the bathroom of the irish pub. We were crowded into the dark mahogany wood stall, something fitting for the place. She and I were partners in crime, as always and we huddled together in that weird space between the toilet and the door as I crammed it shut. She bent over the back of the toilet and laid out the powder, pouring it carefully enough so that it didn’t flow off the curved surface. She shoved the rolled dollar bill into my face and smiled at me. I smiled back and bent over to cut the stuff with my debit card. The account that had zero dollars, why the hell not. We satisfied our cravings , primped in front the mirror and laughed. The whole world started spinning fast as it always does when I crank up. Essie looked at herself in the mirror, she was so beautiful that it hurt me sometimes. Her hair was short and blond, and she was so slight and fragile she reminded me of tinkerbell. Her nose was perky and she could tell the dirtiest joke with all the boys, while having this extreme class. I have never met anyone who could quite get away with that like her.