She’s got pretty eyelashes, long and curled, and she’s always smiling, but she squeezes her eyes shut (blue, maybe), scrunches her nose up, gags, spits it out, only lets it run down her chin, refuses to swallow it.

Sometimes the men say nothing, sometimes they say disgusting things, things that would make me cry if they came out of someone’s mouth, but sometimes I think these words at these girls.

Whisper them at my glowing laptop screen with my hand under the waistband of my pajama pants.