pouty bottom lip, squinty eyes, head tilt.
Something was definitely wrong.
She could no longer bring herself to playing her turns in the trendy smartphone games she shared with friends. Mustering up the energy to spell “qi” or draw a stick-figure Tina Fey wasn’t the issue; it was more like the pressure to fit “bitch” into the grid or come up with an image for Skrillex she could approximate with her pointer finger was just too heavy.
Also, she’d begun to think in the past tense, and we all know how foreboding that is.
Ohhhh, how grand hope is. And how powerful. But in between anticipation and receipt, when she knows she’s won but hasn’t yet begun to reap its benefits, lies a moment of terror intermixed with a breathy calm that’s forced but real. She can’t seem to see any options but indulgence regularly tainted by irrational pouts.
So she buys things.
And ends up in the present tense.