The Lonely

You might think it’s hard for a little white girl like me to get all by herself from Cal City to Chicago, but guess again, it’s not that hard. You do what you have to to prove your pen pal exists. Early that next morning after Jeanie challenges me, after she flashes her tits laughing and calls me thunderbrow laughing and then says laughing that my pen pal Demarcus doesn’t really exist, early that next morning I slink downstairs superquiet and steal money from Evelyn’s purse for a Metra ticket.

Outside the kitchen window falls 1992’s first snow. I look at it and think not of the snow, I think: Demarcus, you fucker, I’m coming for you.

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