Just as I was about to leave, the front door opened in a dramtic flurry, sweeping the vines of weeds and flowers practically inside the house. And there she was, right before me.

Her hair was longer and messier. The tangled ends grazed her slim hips. She wasn’t wearing pants, just simple black boy-shorts with lace on the edges. Her shirt was ripped in random places and exposed a pierced naval.

As soon as she saw me her wide eyes narrowed and her nose scrunched in distaste. A fat novel titled, Romeo and Juliet slipped from her skinny fingers and thudded to the wood floor. She stood on her toes and peered closer. God, she had lost a lot of weight.

I smiled. She snorted and with a sarcastic grin in return, said, “Hey Dexter, come on in boyo.”

My combat boots lost their echo as we neared her living room; the location of the uproaringly loud music.

After lighting a ciggerate and sinking into an old bathtub with lions feet and a sea of pillows, she chuckled and said, “What took you so long?”