Hello, small white ball.
Meet red solo cup.
Amber liquid dances along the table,
Drips from the fingers of the players.
They call it thirst, but is it hunger?
For someone across the room to notice my skirt hiked a little too high.
Take a drink.
The bitter fluid slithers its way down my throat.
Vision blurs and head hangs heavy.
Just one more to hold the buzz.
Grab for a half empty can and serpentine through the throng of not quite acquaintances.
(Pinky underneath of course)
For one ephemeral moment the beverage resembles a childhood toy,
Comforting and right at home wrapped inside the balls of my fingers.
Mind placid and empty.
Gulp and chug.
So much for sentiment.
Might as well skip college if AA is beckoning in high school.
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Hopskip (Hop, Skip, Fall over)