Charlotte at the Grey Gallery, Part 2
Charlotte
Messaging head with knees, ass up. Legs over fingerboard, thighs, slap chords. Spooning, plucking, straddling, turning away.
I’ve had one full beer and two sips of a second. It’s a Thursday and I’m alone in the apartment. I just cooked dinner and miraculously didn’t want to die, actually deriving a bit of pleasure in nourishing myself. Small victory. A friend texted me that she was feeling fully grumpy and tired and I texted her back that I thought she was brave for letting herself be fully grumpy and tired.
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