Saturday, September 12, 2009
One afternoon, Mid-July
How sad are the girls painted blonder than their toenails--summer sun yellow never looked so wretched. They chortle through pubic-hair-plucking sessions with their dearest, closest friends, their laughter bubbling from their mouths to stain the delicate afternoon where I was lucky enough to be sitting, cross-legged, sincere-hearted, a hot blush of embarrassment driven to my cheeks, where it remained for at least two hours after I saw them, hand in hand, their tan legs voiced near-silent confessions, they said: I have three bumpy green veins-- serpentine like the gold chains strangling their hot-pink necks--and they say more and speak more than those loud jewelry pieces ever could.
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