09.06.02 - 2:00 p.m.

amanda, i dont even know the color of
your hair these days. i just remember
when it was early-warhol blonde, impeccable.
you hugged me once, after our trip to portland
in your gigantic black swinger - as menacing
as you - with bullhorns attached to the front grill.
you were moody and gorgeous, the one the
boys privately lusted after, publicly called a bitch,
and i never disagreed. i didnt think youd have either.
you smoked while teaching me eyeliner techniques.
we were the girls and when i left town,
you refused to get out of the car. you drove
down the entire length of our street,
arm outstretched, middle finger extended
and for once i didnt take offense. i
knew it was a different kind of fuck you.

love
astrid