A million little pieces

Where does someone like you come from?

I've lived a lot of places.

Like where?

Why do you care?

Just wondering.

Stop wondering.

Why? I don't want to make friends here.

Why? I don't like good-byes. You gotta say them though.

No, you don't.

I stand and I take my tray and I get back in line and I get more food and I get more napkins and I make my way toward an empty table in the corner and I sit down and I eat my food. I eat slower this time.

With each bite I take I feel my stomach expanding. It is an awful, uncomfortable feeling, but I can't stop. I take bite after bite, I feel worse and worse. I look at the food and I don't want any more, but it doesn't matter. I take bite after bite, I feel worse and worse. Get something. Fill me. That is all that matters. Fill me.

I finish the plate and I stand and I walk slowly, slowly, slowly across the Dining Room and I put my tray on the conveyor belt to the dishwasher. When I turn around, Lilly is standing in front of me.

Although I saw her a little while ago, I didn't really see her, and although I have met her twice before, I have never really looked at her. She has long black hair to the middle of her chest and she has blue eyes. Not ice blue, water blue. Deep clean water blue. She is pale white, pale pale pale white, and her lips are thick and blood red, though she is not wearing lipstick. Her jeans are old and worn and her black sweater is old and worn and her combat boots are old and worn and everything is too big for her body, which is small and thin. She is holding a tray and smiling. Her teeth are straight and white, and they are straight in a way that came without braces and white in a way that has nothing to do with toothpaste. I smile back. She speaks.

You have teeth.

Yeah.

They look nice.

Thanks.