Portait of chris

She looked better naked.

She always wore clothes that were all wrong for her and sometimes ended up looking like a peacock with a neon green hat, a great orange t-shirt, and a floaty umbrella skirt. She wore big fired clay beads and Birkenstocks.

She went to traditional Armenian dance society functions and recited poetry with a nasal reverence of the first time we had sex and she said somewhere, she thought, something really good was happening because of what we were doing at that moment. She believed it earnestly.

I tried to let that comment wither on the vine.


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