“Let’s go get drunk.”
I turn away from the television and see Seth, my roommate since forever, leaning contemplatively against the counter. His fake lashes, which he for whatever reason never took off after Friday, sit awkward and long against his otherwise barren face.
He waves his hand in the air as if to say “why the fuck not?” I notice that his long, feminine finger nails are painted an electric shade of pink. He looked good yesterday. Definitely one of his better costumes. I suddenly wish I had gotten a picture.
“Why the fuck would we not go get drunk on Sunday?”
He rolls his eyes at me, fully clothed in their lashes, and I can read that look because the asshole gives it to me all the time.
“I don’t know, isn’t it sacrilegious or some bullshit?”
“You’re an atheist; now go put on your hooker heals.”
He dismisses me with a flick of his wrist as he retreats back to his own room to get dressed in full drag, just as he always does whenever we go out just so he can wave when we drive by the Methodist church on the way to the gay bar.
When we’ve both completed our outfits, me in my hooker heels and fuck me dress, he in his fishnets and plastic boobs, we hook arms and grin at each other, because what a pair we make.
“Babe, this is going to fucking rock.”
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