June 2009
1 post
Stacy.
“Why don’t you come over to my place?” Stacy said.
It’s been three years. Three years of a distant but solid acquaintance. We were 12 when I first laid eyes on her. She is tall and lean, always poised and graceful. Her ballerina stance never seems to have left her. Freckles peppered her shoulders until the arch of her back, but her long wavy blonde hair draped gracefully...