i worry for beanie. i really do.
not because beanie isn’t a bad-ass. holy fuck, she sure is. she’s got ink all up and down her arms and her neck and her tits and fuck you, because there are skulls and runes and shit beanie believes in, up to and including the pair of ratty red stockings that symbolize our own beloved history. she’s got death marks. she’s got the weird W/V conglomeration that signifies her car for some reason. and somewhere on her skin you could probably find the names of her three best friends.
but the ink isn’t a safeguard against dicks. in fact, it works against her favor.
but i worry for beanie nonetheless.
oh, beanie can take care of herself. after all, she’s lived in croatia. and hawaii. and, i think, detroit? it was all rather hazy after the Xth jameson rocks. but in any case beanie picked boston. and god knows why and even he doesn’t know why and i begged beanie for an explanation but all she told me was she loves graphic novels.
she loves morrissey.
she owns 15 classic arcade machines and doesn’t yet own skeeball.
she has 3 dogs, one is tallulah, a chihuahua.
oh, and she owns a human fetus. right, yeah.
but why were they all so mean to beanie? it got so ugly after she left ostensibly for a smoke. and then for good. they talked shit about beanie. “that bitch is psycho,” they said, and all of a sudden i was zapped back to what it’s like and what they’re like and what it’s like.
even the girl who wasn’t born in malden. the one who seemed to have been beanie’s friend, who clinked her glass and said “fuck yeah morrissey!” when beanie was happy to see her — even that girl nodded her head and said “fuck, that bitch has a human fetus at home.” that cut the worst of all.
i worry for beanie, who for some reason, not the least explainable, loved the red sox, though she grew up in mississippi and had the accent to somewhat prove it.
i worry for beanie, who will encounter thick necked men who claim they’re from southie but are really from malden and either way they have small dicks.
i worry for beanie, a girl who won’t shut up about how much she wants to hear morrissey in this bar, right the fuck now.
i worry for beanie, even the bartender started talking shit after she left. something about late night food and doesn’t she know better and of course she doesn’t you fucking idiot because she just moved here.
i worry for beanie, a girl i do not want to fuck.
i want to hug her and tell her that even the baddest girls with ink and fetuses at home will have it hard here and by the way it is cold and quiet and dark here and beanie is small and warm and twang and smile.