Did I tell you about the time I met Marsha? She ran after me and tackled me for stealing her bike. We went crashing to the ground, almost got run down by a cement truck in its way to the new housing development. If I think about it I can still smell the cloud of concrete gas and the burning of the tires. She had me pinned like one of her ward patients. In my defence, it looked just like my bike, same brand, but mine had a bell on the handlebars. That was before we had kids, back went we were young and good looking. Well, she is still good looking; but that’s brown skin for you, it ages way better than white. I have skin envy, boob envy too, but that’s the lot of small chested women I guess. We’re all supposed to be double D with the same waists we had at sixteen. No wonder people go under the knife, it’s a kind of mental torture really. Keep telling people they need to meet impossible beauty standards to be loved, to keep their partners, and they’re willing to risk their lives to achieve it.
Found in Are you awake yet? - first draft, authored by Daisy.
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