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Jason doesn't get "sexy friendship."...


a whole February has gone by. what impressions were worth keeping?
fight with Jason about weed. stupid thing to fight about, but also I guess a big deal.
is writing a way to talk to yourself?

in Salt Lake City, a nightmare terror house looms year-round. we peer out the window past the snow with light apprehension - the dark grayish purple building, seemingly made of styrofoam, towered in the sun, casting a shadow on our airport uber. the driver says the hordes flock to the city by the lake for only the most top-tier haunted houses.

life keeps moving on...will I remember what it felt like to be young?

On sexy friendship-
in LA, the girls from teach for America did mushrooms. I laid in Bella's bed, a girl I met that made me question my sexuality, while she cut fruit in the kitchen for us. we sat around the dinner table eating berries and painting, lifting each other up, wearing hoodies and sweats. I blushed when they liked my painting; I revered the company of beautiful women. after getting drunk on glittery cocktails in Culver City, I'd drive back to my friends pad in koreatown and sleep alone, despite them always begging me to stay over.
after a tearful sunset in the street, two cars parting souls in love and pain, a dramatic spell of crisis, Catherine pays for order at chick fil a. we sit in the faded red booth, I with my spicy chicken deluxe and an Oreo milkshake and she in front of me nibbling nuggets. we discuss work, friends, love, and life in the comfortably dim lighting, surrounded by groups of high Daly City teenagers, both our hair wet from the shower. she tells me to sleep with a hot water bottle, and light a candle to feel better, and I remember our lunch time conversations at the med school cafe in Hyde park with a poignant case of deja vu. we talk of our plans for the future, and I joke that if all goes south, I'll move to New York City with her and embrace the modern female condition.
Amy lays on the carpet beside me and I sit on the couch under a white fur throw i ordered off Etsy. it's 4am in January and we've just returned from a club called Rhonda. to soften the edge of our adderall comedown, I hit the green bong Michael bought me on haight street. on my klispches, she plays a jayda g mix I've never heard before, with that Fred again.. song Diana. past the haze of the smoke I see red, shadows of gray, like the single cover from DJ kicks. we lay listening in the faint dark til spent and part for bed.