Horoscopes
One morning she awoke with little faith left in the weatherman as she crept, naked feet on cold linoleum down to the door� on the other side it rained mercilessly, fuck ten percent chance of precipitation!
She put your toast in and pushed hard on the plastic, trying not to burn it this time� still only in her underwear she sits cross-legged now on the stupid kitchen floor with her coffee resting up against her inner thy, letting the warmth radiate upwards towards the frozen core� defrosting like the meat set out to thaw.
The paper is damp and smells of ink and spring� she unfolds it as precisely as she can muster at this early an hour� fucking newspapers are always impossible to put back together, they never get passed on to the next reader in tact; just look at these ink stained hands, a little bad news always rubs off on me� she thinks sitting cross-legged still on the ugly yellow linoleum of apartment 12B�.
Passing the headlines with their pictures of people praying in beautiful black and white lighting, mourning the death of the Pope� she flicks to the horoscopes� mindlessly� it�s all mindless at 5am on a Tuesday... she reads the caption under the little cartoon goat� �More fucking bad news,� she half vocalizes into an empty room as she stands up awkwardly to mind the burnt toast� spilling her coffee as she fumbles upward�
The haze of sleepiness finally burns off and this stupid, lost� scratch that; beautiful girl� scratch that; woman� looks up from the sleepy paper, the burnt toast, the spilled coffee and screams out� not half spoken, nor simply a muffled cry� �fuck it! it�s time we started writing out own horoscopes�. I�m just a fucked up girl who wants happiness, creativity, adventure and love�. And I�m� I�m pretty damn resistant� resilient� yeah that�s me in a nice little blur, a dime size ad in the paper��