In Dreams was published in 2003 MagazineSeptember 2016..


In memories it's always summer. It's always warm and sticky, June bugs flying into the screen door and dying on the porch, your stomach rotting, filled with Smirnoff Ice, shirt two sizes too small and riding up around your belly. Girls are going wild across your screen, making out in hotel rooms in South Florida, black bars jiggling up and down as they roll around the bed. Now they're on a beach, someone is pouring beer onto their chests, they're in a club, they're in an RV, censor bars are rolling around and they're yelling and jumping up and down and pulling off their thongs. Sitting on the cool leather of your basement couch, you smell like fake tanner and vomit, sour and sweet like black raspberries soaked in bile and you are pouring goldfish crackers into your mouth, trying to soak up what's rotting you out. 

But in dreams you are sparkling. You are tight and tan and big boobed and soft skinned. You are blonde and pink and shining and your hair is perfectly waved and everyone wants you. You want nothing. You are everything. Glossy and misted and french tipped, you are wrapped in fur and rhinestones, you are encrusted and alive, hot like summer, sticky sticky sticky. Hot like Paris, like Britney, like Christina and Kim, the baddest bitch, singing the sweetest hymn.