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04 July 2022
Lyric did not do many things for herself. She lived a small life. She didn’t go out much. She didn’t drink. She got her internet from one of her neighbors’ wifi. She only ever paid for Hulu OR Netflix, never both, on a month-to-month basis. She didn’t smoke. She didn’t date (in the traditional sense). She had her one bedroom apartment, and she had her job, and she had her hustles. That was about it.
She didn’t do things because things cost money, which she did not have. The coffee shop where she worked, Downtown Grind, barely paid for her apartment. Sometimes the tips were okay, but they were never enough to cover all her expenses. To make ends meet for groceries, and her meds, power and water, Lyric would get a little dolled up, pop up on an app for a little while, and (most of the time) come home with an extra fifty bucks.
Most of the time.
Lyric did not do many things for herself, but she did do one thing. Once a week, if not more, on her days off from the shop, she would eat an edible gummy. Blue Raspberry, with a distinct body mellowing, was her favorite. An hour later, maybe two, she’d drift away from her troubles for a while. Have meaningful conversations with herself in the shower. Bake a batch of brownies. Jerk off two or three times. Eat a batch of brownies. Jerk off again.
This is how Lyric found herself at home, alone, in her one bedroom apartment on the seventh floor of her building, lying in bed on the Fourth of July. Lyric was feeling pretty good, and her guard was down, and in a moment where she was proud of herself and absolutely, profoundly feeling herself, she put her phone down on her bed, leaned görele escort it against a pillow, spent a minute finding the right pose, and took a picture. Then deleted it, and took another one. Then deleted it and took another one.
Then deleted that, and took another one, and that one she kept. That one, she liked.
That one, she submitted to her favorite subreddit. Fist tight around the base of her cock in the foreground, pushing her balls down and out, her own face all fuzzy and out of focus in the background. She laid there for another couple hours, paying almost no attention to the constant stream of videos playing on her laptop, while she played with herself, with almost all of her attention on the steady flow of upvotes. Five. Eight. Thirteen. Nineteen. Twenty three. Twenty seven.
She made it to about one in the morning before one hormone or another took her under, and she smiled all the way through the night.
***
15 Sep 2022
Madalyn closed the door behind her and hurried down the stairs. She hated the early shift, hated how gloomy the city looked when she trudged toward the subway station, still half asleep. She hated getting up before the sun. She hated that they lived so far away.
She yawned and pushed her hands deeper in her pockets, stifling a shiver. It would be much warmer later, but it was cool in the pre-dawn hours.
It makes sense to live here because Amy and François work here, she reminded herself, the thought running its course with well-practiced routine. It had a more sullen undertone than usual, and she clenched her jaw as she stood waiting for the train.
This göztepe escort is all because of the invitation, she thought. I’ll feel better after I’ve had my first pot. That was the one good thing about working in a coffee shop: the coffee was good.
She sat on the nearly empty car and stared resolutely at her bleak reflection on the window, a pale ghost against the black of the tunnel, illuminated by the fluorescent lights behind her. She looked old and tired. Even from the unclear image she could make out the bags under her eyes. She hadn’t slept well.
The invitation was from one of her and Amy’s oldest friends, Stella, asking for them to attend her wedding. It was Stella’s third marriage, and she and Amy had snickered a bit at how she still made such a big deal out of it. Amy had tossed the envelope on the coffee table, and now the sight of it had burned into Madalyn’s mind.
It was the way it was addressed. Above their address Stella had written, in her curly and pompous cursive,
Amy Smith a pair of plush armchairs. She stretched, lifted her legs over the armrest and curled up in the chair. Despite having just done physical work, she was chilly. Being awake at nights came with a cost.
The door burst open behind Maddy, slamming against the wall, and she jerked upright.
“I’m awake! I’m awake!”
Gertrude, the only employee who was older than Maddy, grunted at her, waved dismissively with her hand and sat heavily on the other armchair. She grumbled something under her breath, fished out a flask from the folds of her apron, and took a swig. Judging by her expression, it was something güllük escort strong.
“What is it?” Maddy asked, peering toward the door. It didn’t seem like Gertrude was mad at her for dozing off on the job, which she still wasn’t sure she had done, but it was obvious the larger woman was agitated.
“Pretzels! Burned the fucking pretzels!” Gertrude growled and took another swig. “I should know better!”
Maddy stretched. She didn’t know how she was supposed to react. She wasn’t sure how long she had been zoning out in the chair, and felt the pull to get back to work, but it seemed inconsiderate to just leave when Gertrude had just arrived. Gertrude offered her the flask, and against her better judgement Maddy accepted.
The booze was strong and spicy, some kind of a herb flavored concoction. Maddy shuddered and made a noise, which in turn made Gertrude laugh. She was a big woman, tall and round, and her laugh was hearty. Loud and full. Maddy smiled weakly and gave the flask back.
“That’ll grow some hair on your chest!” Gertrude said.
“Oof,” Maddy said. She could feel the alcohol on her breath. “Do you often…”
“Drink on the job?” Maddy was afraid she’d overstepped, but Gertrude just leaned back on the chair and took another swig. “Who cares,” she mused. “All they care about is the pretzels. So what if I’m a bit tipsy making them.”
Maddy thought it would not be polite to point out Gertrude had just burned the pretzels, so she searched for other topics. “Do you always work the night?”
“Ja, ja,” Gertrude admitted. “Monday to Thursday, every week, since I don’t even want to remember. Ja. I make the pretzels. Something else too, you know. But that’s why I’m here. Ever since I came to the States.” Gertrude stared ahead for a while, then perked up and turned towards Maddy. “You’ve been here a while too, nicht wahr? I remember you starting, it was long ago. Before this section opened up. But you haven’t worked at night. Why are you here now?”
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