Neon Indian // Polish Girl


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Street lights stretched like mosaics, wetted and shiny from the musty rain as the car bladed serenely down Astor Place. Light rockets ricocheted in the sky, fanning from the center of an ostentatious missele who’s destiny was death by explosion. A screaming fell in Sinclair’s lap as she gripped the edge of the car seat with her clammy hands, teetering from the views of pedestrians and drunk fools and her own reflection shaded in the glassy, drop-covered window. If she squinted hard enough she could make out the profile of her driver and his one-handed grip on the wheel, but she needn’t look; she could feel his energy like a bomb had been set off. A hurricane on the cusp of crashing on a coastline. The moment of chaos as something starts to fall from your hands but you are too slow to catch it. All that friction and constant, whispering harassment of two binary energies colliding into one monumental combustion was enough to set off a multi-car build up had it not been for a strong grip handling the wheel of the four door Nisan. A pleasant sense of urgency finally landed the perfect parking spot hidden streets away from their destination – enough time to kill a few friendly fires that had been brewing for weeks now inside the walls of the place they studied. Studied lessons and terms, graded but only on an alphabetical scale. What had been neglected in the schooling systems was how to grade the lessons that fell in-between the gridded lines and margins, except in this bullshit life all that seemed to matter was grading percentages and not the real, what-will-matter-in-your-final-days kind of stuff.

Just as her distinct brevity in societal bullshit was about to come into clear focus her hand was swept into the larger palm of her driver, tensed and firm. She sat there stone silent but cringing in every part of her body that could feel, and she felt all over. The car had been parked. Sinclair had been lost in her momentary daydream that she’d completely forgotten the bar they were supposed to be meeting his brother at. Over-swept by a pang of guilt for the sudden forgetfulness of her boyfriend who’d gone back home to visit his college friends, her face was pulled and turned and her lips parted by his tongue. A wet lick against her bottom lip softened by the cushioned padding of his mouth sucking around her throbbing lower lip. He stayed planted for a while, gently pulling as if to insinuate what else he would be doing later when they were alone in her room and clothes had come undone, perhaps her underwear dangling like fringe off one of her feet as his head stayed deeply buried in the soft curtains and folds of what she’d been purposely keeping from him. And as she contemplated all that was and was going to be, she gripped a handful of hair from the back of his head and pulled him in closer letting her tongue toy with him inside his slightly parted mouth.

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