I walk through campus wearing black leggings and those faded, leather boots. I’m even wearing an infinity scarf I bought full price at Anthropologie and a pair of tiger-striped cat eye sunglasses. ****, I look good.
On top of it, I’m smoking a Parliament menthol, my red-lined lips whipping smoke into the dead air, creating a grey cloud that some would call cancerous and others, ****.
But no one notices me, and, candidly, I am okay with that because I notice me, and I am a big red dance button that demands to be pushed. So, I push myself and groove down the brown brick road all the way to classroom 114 in the science building.