muscles4bones
"Turbines in gear, we're blasting off!" the six-year-old shouted to his stuffed animal crew, from the cock-pit of his cardboard space ship.
They were spinning her around, laughing, this was the first time she had been acknowledged by the group of girls at all, so she let the game keep going, even after she was she was beginning to loose her balance. "Watch it, she's gonna barf" one of the children cried, and indeed, a splash of vomit plopped out from underneath the bucket one of them had shoved onto her head.
"I want one I want one!" she screamed, flailing her chubby arms. The simple tune of the ice cream truck was a siren's song. The burly, mustachioed man handed her a cream sickle shaped like a clown, with one candy eye missing.
"Thanks dad!"
She always did this weird fidgety dance to pass the time when she waited for the microwave to beep. It was one thing he had come to accept about her in all the time they had been together, she could never, ever, ever hold still, even for one minute.
The room was crowded to capacity, persons shoved tightly up against each-other, inhaling the combined fumes of stale beer and the sweat of their neighbors. Then finally a wiry tattooed young man, with a feral glint in his eye steps up, loops the beat up guitar strap around his shoulders. The aimless murmuring erupts into screams, the show has begun.