Francesca’s Knees


Francesca’s knees are bruised, from bashing into the car door-steering wheel combo as the Jehovah’s Witness chased her to her father’s Honda, a stoic vehicle in the Ohio snow. The other from the Icelandic Vodka, two brands, his girlfriend supplied in happier times.

She wondered if she was technically a drunk if it was only vodka and only on designated new moons in certain time zones. Who was she kidding? She was a wreck. A train wreck, in a minor key.

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