paint chip

paintchip1

A pink paint chip with three pinks sitting on the box that’s my nightstand this month and an offer of fried chicken left over from my professor friend’s field trip slash picnic. The three pinks peel off and stick and I can’t decide where to stick them for max happy. The top of my sad old laptop or the insides of my glasses to make the world rose colored or me blind. I didn’t choose to be a beggar. Beggars can’t be choosers. I think I might actually be a queen since I have everything. I have nothing, which is everything when that’s what you have, though I do have that piece of sky right now just before the desert thunderstorm. It belongs to me and probably almost nobody else even noticed it. I don’t need more. Ben says I’m a class act and I can stay at his place for however long and don’t have to pay a thing no strings, what a honey. I’ll go to the hardware store and get some more free sticky colors tomorrow maybe and hug Frankie the mutt next door because really it doesn’t get better than that.

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