AJ was a self-described bi-sexual poet who got married at 17 to
emanc
ipate herself from her Lexus-driving mother (lucky it was Open).
Who,
through neglect at the beach, almost killed the kid she nanny-ed
for ov
er the summer in Sweden (I'm guessing brain damaged from the
story).
I would drive her home after Creative Writing every week. I
would st
op in front of her building. We would sit in the dark and talk
for an ho
ur. She would always tell me how she liked to smoke a bowl,
write po
etry, and masturbate before bed, then she would always ask me if
I wa
nted to get lit before her boyfriend-husband got home--AJ was
smart,
wry, understood the importance of character-flaw, and was
obsessed w
ith Margaret Atwood. *none of you + I know her anymore*
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