She goes from store to storewanting to spend money on herselfto forget him, his belligerent asshole idiot self.
She gets fresh cash from the ATM.
Money is beautiful.
The days when bills slide out obedientlythe sort of day she wants to meet someone new.
I want to fuck that bitch like nobody's buzness;he had said this with his chin lifted, a commendable politics,worth signing a petition,worth losing something over.
Women pushing babies. Starbucks sleepwalkers.Blank light, indiscriminate shadows.Glad for her wooden heels clicking
to the mall, maybe. New clothes, some makeup.Magazines. She has perfect fingers,so fuck him. Fuck his wanderlust.She picks up something to buy.
Paper-crisp twenties.The two fives blue as delphinium.
