We spark the menthol loosie, purchased for a quarter. Hidden from parental eyes in a side street near my apartment building. Puff puff giving while saying it tastes of mint toothpaste. There’s something about this flavor that makes the alter egos emerge organically. 𝘐’𝘮 𝘉𝘢𝘢𝘢𝘢𝘳𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘢, I say in a razored voice, 𝘢 60-𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳-𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘦𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘪𝘪𝘪𝘴𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥. You giggle and go, 𝘐’𝘮 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢 𝘓𝘶𝘤𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦. We laugh to tears, our bodies spilling toward the broken-glassed sidewalk. 𝘐’𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘣e 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘰𝘭𝘥, I say when our laughter retreats, then exhale into the Queens sky, sooty like the inside of a used ashtray.
L. Soviero is a writer from Queens. She has been nominated for Best of the Net, longlisted at Wigleaf, and spotlighted in Best Small Fictions. lsoviero.com