she stands in front of the mirror and looks at her face and sees his face. i know he's the one, because when i look in the mirror at my face i see his face. she leaves her apartment. a black cat crosses her path. she unlocks her phone and googles black cat, good luck or bad luck. the results are 50/50 depending on the culture. she always related to eastern philosophy. good. on the way to her last session, a bird pooped on her hand. good luck.

riding fast down metropolitan on the racing bike again, the one that would be stolen a few weeks later. you're going too fast would be the message, but she’s still accelerating. it's chilly enough to wear gloves. she feels a small amount of pressure on her right hand, a little wet. she looks down. this must be the right thing to do. i'm on the right path, she sees his face again. she sees it everywhere.

hops off and locks with a hefty chain, which would soon be lost too, after leaving it on the counter of an air bnb of an untrue friend of an untrue friend’s. that friend would leave the chain in her lobby when she wasn't going to go pick it up, she never said she was going to go get it.

she uses the code sam gave her. once in the lobby, dark wood and smelly, she calls the number sam had last used. there were a few. they pick up. she says she's looking for sam. who is this? they ask, she says i have an appointment with her, they say who is this? she says i have an appointment with sam, can you tell us more about that? for a cleansing. they say ohhh and laugh nervously. it's just your caller ID says [company name].

try this number.

sam's phone. hey, i have an appointment with sam. sam left her phone at home today, i'll see if i can reach her.

phone rings, where are you sweetheart? im at the office um [address] i think that's the one is that the one? yes. the walls are bending. sam is upstairs, you can go knock on the door.

she glides up the curved staircase and knocks. nothing. slinks back down the stairs and paces under the stairwell. a door opens above. hello? a man is at the top of the stairs. hey, is sam home? hmm no sam lives here. ok! sorry. do you need anything? oh, no, i'm just going to wait for my friend here.

two minutes pass and she calls the number again. i knocked and they said sam didn't live there. did you try the door at the top of the stairs? i think so. ok, i'll try her again, hang on. i'm sorry. no, i'm sorry this is happening to you.

a door opens at the top of the stairs. she swears it hadn't been there before. had it been there the whole time? sam comes out of the door in a bralette and a skin tight mini skirt. hey love, did you get in ok? yeah!

a few more things happen and then they are in the bathroom turning on the shower. take your bottoms off. actually, take anything off you don't want to get wet.

everything in a pile on the floor and she is staring at it, warm water on her chest, as the door bursts open and then hurries closed again. hey! sorry about that, love. sam takes the sickly pink salt out of the ziplock bag. with an open palm she rubs it on her genitals rigorously. this will get rid of the bacteria for good. but you have to be intimate as soon as possible. he's the one we have to go after. oh love, your eyes, so sad… do you have pictures?

on the couch she shows sam a dick pick. veryyyy nice.. sam says, send this to me so i can meditate on it.

i told my boss what kind of progress you're making and that's why she's giving you such a good deal on this. so we have to have another session tomorrow, ok love?

how much?

sam opens her mouth and the waves bend. it's ok, she thinks, it's ok. her phone is in her hand, her hand is sending the money, it’s sending and it sends.
she bikes home. she looks at his pictures again. she scrolls through his instagram on the burner account she made to view his stories. she had found his handle by searching in the followers of an instagram famous artist. he was at the studio today. he posted in-progress pictures on his story. good excuse to not text back. she lays back in the bath. she closes her eyes and she sees his face.

Violet makes art, stories, noises, and coffees in the outer boroughs of new york, new york.
Instagram: @violet_indigo_blue_
Twitter: @rlyniceguyirl