As a writer, I find it's very important to read also. In fact, even if you aren't a writer I think you should read. It will expand your mind, expose you to different situations and cultures, and broaden your vocabulary. Not to mention you get to have a break from reality. It's impossible to choose a single favorite book or a single favorite author, but a few of mine are as follows.
“Kirsten. Kirsten… Kirsten!”
“Give me the bowl, it’s my turn!”
“Come on, it’s my turn… Come on.”
“I’m giving it to you, chill the fuck out.”
Kirsten passed the bowl over to Leah, who was waiting impatiently in the passenger seat of Kirsten’s 2007 Mazda3. Leah put the bowl to her lips, ignited the weed with her black lighter, and sucked in. Inhaling as much smoke as she could, Leah held it in her mouth and closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the headrest.
“It is hot as hell in here,” Marjorie said. “I’m sweating like a priest in a playground.”
She fanned herself with her sunhat and leaned back in her seat, taking a sip of her Long Island iced tea. Her graying-dyed-blonde hair stuck to the back of her neck. The old wooden chair creaked underneath her.
Marjorie looked around, surveying all the guests. She leaned in and quietly said to Penelope, “Now, I don’t know half the people here. Do you know these people? I don’t recognize half of them.”
“I couldn’t tell you one of these people’s names,” Penelope said.
A few children ran by and the women flinched, sitting up straighter. Their bodies stiffened. A woman with short brown hair and a white sundress sitting behind them eyed them.
“Most of these people are just plain old hicks. They don’t even have air conditioning in here. I swear, that oscillating fan is doing little to nothing,” Marjorie said.
I woke up with the taste of cigarettes in my mouth. Groggily, I looked at the clock (8:13 AM), rubbed my eyes, and flipped over onto my stomach, burying my face in the pillow to avoid the sunlight. I lay like that until I needed to come up for air. Then I grabbed my cell phone and turned it on for the first time in 20 hours. Seven new text messages. Four from Marcus and three from my mom. Not something I wanted to deal with immediately after waking up. Strange to think that only 24 hours ago I was physically wrestling my brother to the floor, begging him to take his belt off his arm and to give me his syringe.
Marcus’ texts are as followed:
“1:06 PM – Sophia I’m sorry. I know you woke up and caught me in a compromising position, but I barely mess with that shit. You have to believe me, I just broke up with my girlfriend and had a terrible night.
1:43 PM – Have you left for good? I swear everything will go back to normal if you would please come back.