and walks on past. I turn and watch her walk away, which is a total waste of time, since I can’t make out the shape of her ass hidden by all that cotton. It’s maddening, and you know what? So is she. Swear she does all this to irk my nerves. Speaks but says virtually nothing. Stares but hides her every emotion. Wears that stupid fucking sweater. It’s almost as if the girl lives in some sort of invisible box, one she keeps locked tight around her, and if I were to try to punch past it, I’d be met with a triple layer of bulletproof fucking glass. My knuckles would be reduced to fractured
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