Her wine glass was empty—what’s new?—but before she could even raise a slender digit, Dorian was there with the bottle. He spilled a bit as he poured, but Dorian was never like, the best. She remembered overhearing that he wanted to be a novelist, and that made her giggle, internally.
Good luck, Dorian, she thought then, as she thought now.
She smiled and thanked him, but said nothing. She never did. That’s what she liked about Candice’s. They left you the fuck alone, and after work, she only WANTED to be left alone.
Today was exceptionally rough, but weren’t they all? Ah, the life of a public defender. Today had been three appearances, one sad case of a “reformed” addict trying to regain custody of her kids, and two standard Drunk Park Flashers. Today was life.
Ugh.
This wasn’t what she envisioned leaving law school, but what the fuck. She’d been idealistic, then. Change the world. Blah, blah, blah. That quickly morphed into “present a plausible defense for the homeless guy who’d been rubbing his dick on the Neptune statue in the fountain of the Clayton Memorial Cancer Garden Park.”
Now she just wanted to be at home and alone. And aside from Mr. Pickles, that was entirely possible. And Mr. Pickles? He was fine. He liked to cuddle and his balls had been cut off. Ideal.
She hailed a cab, held her breath against the Sudanese man’s polyester sweat, and sooner than she knew it, she was on her couch with a new, big glass of wine—nothing spilled this time, fuck you very much, Dorian—and her iPad.
And then Facebook.
Of course.
The friends with kids, the friends on vacation, the stupid fucking high school acquaintances sharing anti-Obama “memes,” and disturbing pictures of children who’d been mostly burned.
She was only on here to keep in touch with Lisa, but Lisa never posted anything anymore.
Jessie would be hard pressed to tell you if Lisa was even alive. Thanks, Facebook. Thanks, Obama.
She giggled to herself as she set her glass on the table in front of her and tucked her legs beneath her body.
Fuck Facebook.
Fuck Lisa.
Fuck it, she thought before drifting off to sleep.
PONY SHORTS 