Headlines
It’s Fiona—holy shit—there’s a group of guys in the adjoining room, and they have no idea how impossible it is not to hear them—they go downstairs and come up for blow, weed, and gossip … fascinating!—but now I feel I have to be really quiet. I’m taking notes. Weed smoke is coming through the door … I’m thinking of waiting till they’re blitzed and going over and asking for some pot, and then listening to them when I’m gone … pretty sure it’s a sports team …
I texted back. At 5:34 a.m., before dawn, when the sky was surreally blue and I was asleep, she sent a photo of her face, shot from below, her green eyes staring straight. “I’m out walking,” she wrote, “it’s nice out.”
blog comments powered by Disqus
