Subject is a required field

Old apartments.

The kind where there is never enough parking space, and though light and air enter, the ground level is concrete, not postmodern green.

The kind where, strangely, apparently everyone has enough space to de facto porch their entrance.

And where the rooves are not just accessible but routinely accessed, relic from a time before feminism and White Men technology.

A cute if not scream-inducing gradeschoolboy; shirtless.

His sister, a glorious tween with the straightest hair, white top and a shorty green skirt for the parabola of her legs.

Her friend, also a glorious tween, skinnier, herself in light blue top and short blue skirt.

Like a monsoon of water.

Shake and stir. And drink straight.

oh em eff gee

Doubts about the ability to see them again with the same eyes.