We all stay in my apartment, my pathetic one roomed apartment with the mismatched color schemes and the red lip sticks all over the place;

singing and dancing and drinking our wine and our absinthe with no care in the world.

Rin comes over, dressed in black, a joint sticking out of her mouth;her bandana hanging around her neck and without any make up on at all;

Paul joins us in tight jeans and tight shirts and notebooks that spill out of his messenger bag;

Dia comes next, with her mini skirts and her lipstick and her books, books, books, books all coming down from ontop of her head;

Jourdan is next, a cigarette in her mouth, carring her newborn and cursing like a sailor, as usual;

Heather comes, her tattoes shining brightly, tattoes of strange things but somehow suitable

and I am last, in my flowing skirt and glass of wine and glasses much too big for my face.

I am last.