via Jo Bradford
There are flashes of recognition in the room. The plastic balloon cake topper. Holding the cheap toy by its edges. Licking in between the red, the yellow, the blue spheres for vanilla icing sickly sweet soft texture. Names of strangers. Welcomes. Grabbing of flesh. Tugging. I am the fan who tries to count the rotations before losing. The chairs- covered in plastic- create suction to bare summer legs.