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I don’t want to be alone on the street, although it’s not a

It’s the e eyes

But several n of hiin to relax back intoabout what I think I saw It ht that turned the e ht I was shot

It’s not the sauy It can’t be

A week afterthe bus, ready to put the whole fucking thing behind hborhood on the north side of town on Sunday, and by the tiet home, I’m exhausted

As I walk the couple blocks tooff my blazer and then undo the harness that securesfor hours, and taking it off feels better than taking a bra off at the end of the day

I drape the blazer over the crook of my elbow and hold the soft silicone of rip as I approach

As I near it, I notice Natalie co down the sidewalk from the other direction Her strawberry blonde hair reflects the waning sunlight in gold highlights, but her sour expression when she catches sight of me ruins the effect

She’s pretty, but only on the outside

“Can’t you at least wear that thing like you’re supposed to?” She casts a disparaging look at the fake ar “Cover up your stump so the rest of us don’t have to see it?”

I rollinjury makes you uncomfortable”

She gives an irritated little huff

I’ve known Natalie for years, since ere in our early teens We both grew up in the foster system, and our paths crossed periodically as ent in and out of different hoo, when she started school at the University of Halston Somehow, she convinced her last foster fareat pleasure in rubbing it in my face ever since

When we reach the short set of steps leading up to the front entrance of our apartly at me

“Where were you today?” she asks “The library again?”