they pulled my hair at charm school.
they
stole my guestbook during
rolecall.
this was in that summer. + November 2.2005 = 11:49 p.m.
my hands smell like ink. I work below a modeling agency and when I leave for coffee or lunch or work errands or to go home at night there are always girls precariously balanced on one leg in the foyer. exchanging sneakers for three inch heels if they are just arriving or vice versa if they are leaving. tonight a young boy with a clipboard and bad haircut was scolding a girl who could not have been more than 15 years old. "you really have to show up AT 6 and NO LATER than six. there is just no way we can see you now!" it is going to be seventy degrees on sunday.
prev/next
class
notes, file of pom-pom
ghosts!