Shift Change

please be brutal.  this is an assignment for my english class.  the prompt was to show the psychological effects of poverty.

Sitting at my station, I gaze into my worn reflection.  My makeup has smudged and bled in such a fashion that my face belies my youth.  I slip my shoes off, not bothering to unhook the ankle straps.  As the blood rushes into the pads of my feet, the pain and throbbing are only magnified.  I slip on a pair of flip-flops and, with both hands on the counter to steady me, rise to my feet.  Instead of my reflection, my eyes are met with a typed bulletin reading:

THIS WEEKS NEWS

Kande Kay, Luv, Diamonte, Paris

STAY TUNED FOR NEXT WEEKS NEWS!!!

Please, they’ll be back next month, I think to myself.  I pull my skirt up over my head, placing it on top of my bag, untie the front of my top, letting it slide down my arms and laying it next to the skirt.  Making my way through the front room, I enter the bathroom only to find Honey sprawled on the floor.  I step my right leg over the toilet and hover while I pee, staring down at her contorted body.  Her bare leg is stretched out, resting against the sink opposite me.  Finishing up, I use the wall for leverage to get my leg out from between the wall and the pot.  I close the curtain and turn on the shower, sliding in when the water reaches a few degrees above ice cold.  I convert my pigtails into buns to keep them dry and wash with whatever remnants of soap I can find, careful not to scrub off my lashes.  Shutting off the shower I shake the water out of my shoes and brace for the impact.  As I peel back the curtain the cold air stings my skin.  I quickly move to where Honey had been laying only ten minutes before and begin sticking paper towels to myself.  I hadn’t heard anyone move her so I guess that she came to on her own. 

Once I’m dry I head back to my station, checking the clock as I walk by- :32.  I have a little time.  I quickly paint my face on, almost achieving that look that says I haven’t been here for eight hours already.  I clad myself in my Tuesday night uniform- a cream two-piece with red flowers and trim that drunks always mistake for a tattoo- and throw on a pair of sweats over that. 

“Hey Seven, when do you go up?”  I call across the back room.

“Not ‘til fifteen.”

“You wanna go out on the roof?”  She responds by putting down her eye shadow brush and throwing a hoodie on over her dress.  I pull the bent fork out of its ring and open the latch, pushing through the emergency exit door.  Seven takes the fork from my hand, propping the door slightly open with it.  I remove the J from my pocket, placing it between my lips.  The mixed aroma of honey and chronic soothe me.  Seven hands me a red BIC and I raise the flame to the green leaf.  I puff a few times until that first taste of plant hits my tongue.  I pull deep.  The thick smoke curls out from between my lips and into my nostrils.  Instantly, I feel at peace. 

Halfway through the blunt we tap it out on the wall and return to the dressing room.  I check the clock- :57.  I pull off my sweats and stuff my feet back into my heels.  My face gets a final touch up before I stroll down the stairs.  My eyes scan the crowd as I pass stages three and two, a fake grin plastered on my face.  When I reach stage one, my eyes settle on Andrew sitting at Pervert Row.  I greet him with a hug.

“Are you up next?” he asks gesturing to the stage in front of him.  I nod and glance up at the clock just as it turns to 7:00.  I maneuver around the table and climb the stairs, relieving the two girls on stage. 

“He’s the only one tipping,” Puni hisses in my ear as passes me.  I think to myself, Only seven more sets.