Peering through a peep hole the keys cast shadows on the dusty birth marks of their neighboring controls. Puffy cheeks, fat lips, engorged on the sweet taste of poor decisions. This is how it feels to be a fat girl. When I close my eyes I am standing at the quiet slow-motion center of the all points west concert circa 2009. I’m wearing the same outfit (I wonder if I remember it because of how it imprinted on me or because of how often I’ve stared at pictures.) the main difference between the actual event and my dream replacement is that the sun is out, slowly slipping behind the main stage’s hood. I am closing my eyes. When I open them you are there, another stationary soul in the crushing throngs of pbr laced veins. “hey” your eyes warm. And that’s it. A simple, content-less, minimal daydream and yet it’s all I want as I lay in the shared bed of hundreds of men named dave and steve thousands of miles away on the resting back of an island serpent.
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