At The Mall
You choke and step out of the cologne-soaked shoe store to find tile flooring stretching for miles in every direction. Shitty chinese food booths and phone case kiosks shift and shimmer in the distance. You are stricken with drunkenness. You turn to your side and lean against your friend. She is dirty blonde, skinny, doe-eyed. Your bare skin clings to the fabric of her blouse as she drags you towards the exit. As you inch closer to the wall of automatic doors you can see that it’s snowing heavily outside. Your bare feet squeak against the tiles.
You thought you were clothed. The smell of fried food calls out to you. You twirl away from your friend, but she catches you when you start collapsing. A golden circlet shaped like a wreath clangs sharply against the floor. Alarms blare. Gunshots. They tickle. Black masks, tactical vests, M4 carbines. Lasers dance across your bare torso. Your friend picks you up and hurls you through the glass of a sliding door. Shards dig into your thigh, your forehead, your cheek. The frozen air scrapes against your wounds. You heave an enormous breath and it stings your lungs too, but you can remember now. You can stand. Your friend leaps through the hole your body left in the door. The asphalt is so light under your feet, padded by a layer of yielding flakes. The snow is falling sideways and upwards and in circles. Search lights trawl the grey sky. You can still hear shouting and gunshots. You are sprinting and sliding, leaving barely any footprints.
You reach the end of the parking lot. The freeway is just ahead, but your friend yanks you to the ground behind an SUV. You hold still, still enough to feel dizzy again. She puts her hand on your cheek and turns your head to the right. An enormous egg , sitting in a nest of candy wrappers and plastic bags. You roll it into your lap. You wrap your freezing arms around it. Feathers sprout. The pavement is so light beneath your bare ass.