06 December 2008

One Girl's Story (The Café)

"You tramp," Trish said, breaking into her reverie. "You shameless tramp." Trish crumpled a piece of tissue and hurtled it at her.

"Three men, and you call me a tramp. Some friend you are, Trish."

"Yes, I am your friend, which is why I dare call you a tramp to your face. Girl, I don't care about the first two... It's the third one that bothers me," Trish was beating a cigarette stick upside down on Veronika Decides To Die laid on the table. "He's married! And he's your best friend! Some friend YOU are!" Trish giggled, perhaps to claim that it's a joke, just in case she would get mad. (Jokes are almost always half-meant. But that's so cliché.)

"If we weren't such good friends since college, I'd slit your throat open with your own credit card." She threatened mockingly.

"Ugh. As if this card hasn't given me enough trouble already." Trish motioned to her plastic nightmare, while reaching for the lighter the waiter had left on the table, along with their black coffee. "Seriously now, what would you rather have me do? Call you something sweet? Okay, why you little tart!"

"You're a jerk. That's why I love you, Trish," She smiled mischievously, "and you're right. I was a shameless tramp. But you know what the keyword is?"

"Shameless?" Trish offered, puffing her cigarette and trying to keep a straight face at the same time.

"WAS. Past tense," she said smugly," Thank God for grammar." With her eyes, she followed the thin trail of smoke coming from Trish's lips. It was going further up, maybe even to heaven, as if a burning offering. An atonement for her former sins.

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