morning thoughts
when i was sixteen i started college with a girl who was, in everyone's understanding, the epitome of cool. she wore hiking boots exclusively, everywhere, no matter the occasion, did art and smelt of incense, didn't own a hairbrush, laughed like she was scared she might die the next minute without appreciating the depth of the moment. she was totally fucked, of course, like we all are when we're sixteen. but she was fucked in a cool way, in a manic display of fireworks, sparkling as she sipped her beer and rolled another joint. i didn't know the truth of it all, of course. but then, when do we ever? to me, she was paint-streaked with my envy, so fucking free-spirited, belonged by the sea and salt. she was doing lines of coke every morning, just to get her on her way to college. which does explain the mania, in hindsight. aside from the obvious sense of /jesus fucking christ/, i'm wicked impressed that at sixteen this chick was sourcing and paying for a cocaine habit