Crazy/Hot

Last night I met an interesting character, a story of tragic beauty, her fateful story seemed so prevalent and derivative, developing into some sordid social commentary. So naive, so worried and so stupid. Talking with alcohol induced confidence to a curious soul, of her ex partner whom she portrayed clear and well justified animosity, yet spoke of love. Fragments of dissuasion were exchanged, all the while she sustained dialogue with her ex-partner via the mobile phone, at a rate upwards of 5 messages a minute, interspersed with scant phone calls throughout the night.

She poured more vodka and sugar drink into her near perfect 20 year old frame, rare brand cigarette in mouth as she reached for the incendiary device with child like hands. Oblivious to the affection of the male company in the room. Arising on occasion to dance to contemporary hip hop with her female companions, dancing did not hinder her frenzied text message exchanges. As the night wore on she expressed concern of fatigue, which she swiftly dispatched with the deliverance of dexamphetamine retrieved from a ball of tinfoil in her oversized designer handbag. She talked of courtship, loyalty and the inability of controlling your own emotions, delivered with the diction of a high school student, lack of vocabulary substituted with obscenity, lack of logic substituted with a fitted leopard skin dress. The best friends repeatedly told her to escape her perpetual dependency on the failed relationship, to which she agreed with the conviction of a disinterested Siamese cat. As cessation of the evening set in, dancing, lustful advances and dialogue decreased. When she finally abdicated the location, it was in the ex's car. Her phone can now rest.