You try the last of it out as you fish around for your toothpaste in the cabinet and the faucet runs,
“Master Baruther… Master Baruther… Oh, Master Baruther…”
That must be it. Life isn’t so good… nor, easy.
I should be ashamed of myself, for not knowing exactly where she is from… or if she was born here? Or her family… I’m being so stupid to assume she wouldn’t have been born here, aren’t I? Brandon, you are an idiot. And it was wrong to have gone and bought that damned tea, and thought of her… Can’t you do better than that? She deserves so much better than that. I’m such an ignorant, sorry fuck. She would never look at me… tu e yo…
Maybe I’m a racist, then.
Beautiful woman… lychee-loving woman… I can’t do anything for you. Have a beautiful day.
On the train home that night, Karen Jung angrily sheathed her phone and walked on her black high heels almost straight down the crowded aisle. Nearly almost. She squeezed herself through all the people on the train, winced with embarrassment at her big ass that kept forcing people to press into the plastic seats and onto one another, or release the metal poles to fit her through. But when she did get there, flushed and breathless…
As he was pulling his perfect lip and turning to walk off of the train, she grasped the spiked hair at the back of Brandon Moreno’s scalp, moved him, and kissed him directly on the mouth.
“Hey, so I’m Karen, and I always stand there, thinking… you look real good in red.”