I toss the harmonica on the floor and go to the fridge. I pull out a bottle of wine that has been corked not with a cork but with a baby carrot. I yank the baby carrot from the bottle and take a painful swig of the wine.
“Piss berries,” I say, my face all scrunched up.
I finish the wine and the carrot and wander around the apartment. It is a nicely decorated little flat, two bedrooms and clean. There are some French paintings on the walls, a few Ikea chairs and a nice little Celtic sculpture of nude men hand in hand. The apartment smells like old candles and cat litter and berries. I enter my friends room and colors fill my eyes.
Her room has been decorated like a rainbow lit by a camera flash. Colored silks hang from the bed and each shag thread on her shag carpet is a different, vibrant color. I clutch my chest as I walk through her room.
“Oh God! It’s you God!” I say and I do a little spin.
The room is beautiful and it smells just like a girl's room should. There is a little make-up dresser with all sorts of creams and concealers and powders in one corner of the room. I sit at the table and I look at myself in the mirror.
I have lost weight and my hair is too long.
I pick up a brush and comb my hair to the side. I find a capsule of blush and brush it onto my cheeks. I spray my hair with lily scented hair spray. I apply some eyeliner and lip glistener. I’m actually not that bad looking in such a getup.
When I’m done I open a drawer next to me. It is the thong drawer. Just like everything else, my friend’s thongs are rainbow colored. I pick up a tangerine colored lace thong and spin it around on my finger. When I go to put it back I notice something that had been sitting underneath. It is a small orange box.