Like the gaping maw of gray forever

Few things are sadder than the sight of a thin gold anklet trapped beneath a suntan-colored nylon. And not sad like watching The English Patient on a couch next to a fire while it snows sad, sad like it’s cold but also humid and your mom didn’t wake you up in time to wash your hair and you’re waiting for your grandma in her empty beauty shop on the other side of town and there’s no magazines on the table and you have a hangnail you’ve picked at til it’s bleeding and even though you have the day off of school, it doesn’t matter because no boy will ever like you.