Jessica seared on her Harley past the gate and through the rich neighborhood
with the mansions and countless sports cars. She swung her motorcycle
around at the last minute in front of an especially big house, eyes blazing.
She stomped in and kicked the door down, the hinges askew and one flying off.
She scanned the painfully familiar living room and went up the stairs to where he
definitely was.Right in front of his door, she stopped and took held her
scratched up silver (but now dark gray) phone in a fist to her distorted face and
stared at the monotony words,
“Sorry, babe. This ain’t gonna work”. Not even a goodbye or a reason.
When she angrily threw the door open, he was too deeply into making out with
some blonde that he didn’t even notice her, and of course the poor girl was just as
infatuated or more.
“That’s what I was,” she thought, “Infatuated”.
