“You are the gin to my tonic” titled the card she sent.
Turkey dinosaurs and jammy dodgers make up 2 of her 5 and she laughs full blown belly roll laughs. Laughs mind you not laughs.
Hair the tone of mine so that we might be sisters, gingers tied together with an unspoken understanding, branding us more than simple kin.
Begin at gin, which seeps into deep red like her joy seeps into me.
Honesty peels back bravado.
Among sips, slurps and something else
we discuss Thigh Chafe.
a child named tarquin
And attempt to understand exactly what ‘the dab’ is.
We quiz each other on plans, lack of plans, what brands we’re wearing, why we don’t give a shit about what brands we’re wearing, what yoga we’re practicing, guys we’re dating, food we’re eating, tales we’re telling, hopes we’re hoping. Stuff we’re thinking. It spills out and fills me up like the first cigarette of the day.
Heads a little light, but twilight and twinkles appear.
Content. Hellbent on finishing this bottle.
“You are the gin to my tonic” titled the card she sent.
