The cool girls
agree there needs to be a fund for better ambiance. Their latest collective dream
is Christmas lights, colored only, squished into messy rats nests, pressed flat
across walls. No inch spared. The cool girls slouch into their drinks and talk
about deep things without meaning to, huddle with their batons. They have bundles
of daughters and mothers and ghosts joining their chemistry, tucked under
collars and stored halfway up the slim sleeves of essential white shirts. They triple the warmth of the room, humor the suave operators, enjoy some of it. It’s part of
their job.
mmhmm
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