Two Hundred and Ninety-One.


Izzy circle


sketches for my sweetheart the drunk
3. Breathing underwater is easier than watching you sleep.


Sarah circle


Cherry Garcia, she chuckled.
What a fuckin’ cack.
The bartender who’d given her shit for ordering oversweet cocktails at her age
had ended up joining her on a two-person trivia team to end all others
where they’d ruined the competition with his knowledge of 80s pop hits
and her almost freakish ability to recall the oeuvres of bad big haired film stars
and he’d named them Cherry Garcia, and snuck her a glass full
of maraschino cherries from the cocktail supplies
which she feasted on in victory with every round won
watching his eyes start to go wobbly at the way that she laughed
and her lips round the cherries like the pinups all did it
and when the night had ended, and they’d drunk all the spoils of trivia war
and he stood so close on the step to the bar
she’d winked at him, tossed a wave into the air
and strutted down the street on her own
tonguing the syrupy rim round her teeth
feeling powerful because she’d neither taken nor given a thing



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