Twister

I’m in downtown Pittsburgh at 3:45. This boy has pushed this girl into a wall. His hood has fallen heavily over his face and she is jerking her head to see if anyone is watching. She soon spots mon amis et moi. He is kissing her neck, his back arching steadily. She pushes him away again lightly but he seems not to notice. We pass them as we stroll through the infamous alleyway. It is ripe with raccoon eyed kids, sipping their cigarettes. They are trés ridiculous so I laugh at them. I used to think you were one of them but you’re better than that. I once was friends with the short one with the septum ring through her nose. On to the 61C. Judy’s words are distant now. I’m off in Russia. They all have the same close cut hair and grip the rail attached to the window. The girl is sitting. Her hair is quite American, long and relaxed on the side and short pixie bangs in the front. Her eyes are dusted with lavender shadow. When she begins to speak Russian, her features sharpen to me; eyes more distant, skin colder. She looks very Russian now and I love that. Her smile is foreign. I will miss it.