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Jul 2019
Sammy looked out the dew dribbled, dust laden window. Having always being ripped from place to place, she'd learned by age eleven that one can take sights and should expect no more. She's 23 now and isn't going to clean anybody's ******* windows for them. But the hostel only cost her $3.50 a night and that's cheaper than the foster homes ever did. Hostel over hotel as it seemed almost parallel to the broken bits of here and there from foster care.
What was that girl's name again? I met her at age fifteen… She had green hair! I can't believe I forgot her name. The girl in the bed ten feet over looks like her. Maybe I should say "hi." But what if I offend her or she pulls a knife or speaks a different language? I suppose we're all here for a reason.
"Yo *****!" drips out from my mouth like it doesn't belong there.
She laughs at me.
"Yo, what up?" She says with a smile.
Her teeth are clean but the left canine tooth has been sawed into a needle point. Her eyes look like something I felt a long time ago. And her hair looks like the smell of toothpaste. Maybe the toothpaste company sponsors her with free toothpaste for life but she can't afford shampoo. I try to -brush- that away from mind for now.
"Nothing much. You wanna go get breakfast?"
"Sure. That'd be dope."
Dope drips better out of her white robed mouth than mine. ****.
We walk in silence. It doesn't feel much different than normal.
We find a decent diner advertising "chep cold samitch." New fear: chep cold samitch! There's an old man eating a cold sandwich to our left. The sandwich is completely purple. Like the color of beets. Is something wrong with my eyes?
"My name is Toca. You?"
"My name is Smammy. I mean Sammy! Hmm."
Her eyes crinkle
I order a greenish-blueish-redish samitch and Toca orders a black samitch. Why are they so cold eww.
Toca stares at me intently. Do I have regret for inviting her? Social anxiety or is this just very weird? After twenty minutes like this, her eyes start changing colors. Another ten minutes. Our food is getting warm the cook yells from across the diner.
"You do not want to see them warm..."
Toca raises her arm out from underneath the table and her thumb nail is painted green. Just like mine. That's neat. Except now she starts unscrewing her needle tooth. Ehhhh. The tooth comes off and she rolls it back and forth between her fingers before flicking it exactly between my eyebrows.

I wake up to a sharp lightning strike outside my motel room and clutch my pillow feeling thankful to have paid $11.50 more than what the hostel two miles away offered me.
I thought I'd write a fictional short story instead of a poem
Written by
ilo  19
   Bogdan Dragos
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