“Alright, smoke breather. Open your lungs.” My head is in her lap and she smiles deviously. My hand has found its way to a belt loop on her skin-tight, ripped jeans, and two fingers hook it. She takes a pull off her joint and leans down toward me, her hair creating a red-black curtain of hair around her pointed and painted features.

She holds.

She holds.

She holds.

She opens my mouth with her tiny hands and she gives me a smoke kiss, passing it from her lungs to my mouth to my lungs. Our bodies are a highway. She sits back up and I can see straight up under her jaw, thanks to her nearly flat chest. “It’s nice not being your girlfriend.”

I rolled over onto all fours and advanced on her. “What she doesn’t know—“ I start, but her mouth meets mine and those tiny hands snarl in my raggedy brown hair and she pulls me down on her.

The joint is set on the nightstand, forgotten and burnt-out as we snake in the sheets.