In the parking lot of the hotel, I see a girl try to unlock her door. She seems angry; she looks hot in that horrendously slutty way. She has cut the top of her jeans off, causing them to ride dangerously low on her hips. (Dangerously? I love it; it isn’t dangerous. Slutty, but not dangerous. Unless you truly are worried they will slide right off. For me though, I think it’s fucking fantastic.) Her artificially lightened and streaked hair rolls down her artificially darkened back, over the tube top barely holding her breasts in. Bass pounds from somewhere near me. Behind and down, I think, in another room.
She slides her key in the door-lock and turns. Her left hand tugs on the handle, her right removes the key. One very fluid movement between her two hands.
Still locked.
She repeats the process, no less fluid, no more slowly.
Still locked.
The third time she gets it. She can’t get in her car and drive off fast enough.
I wonder for a moment if she is drunk or simply mad at her own ineptness.
I go back inside. The second period of the soccer game is about to begin.
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