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Punks-In June

Minnie was 14. She liked wearing bright red lipstick and getting high.
She took a long drag off her cigarette.
Tommy watched her lips slightly slip a part; watched the puff of smoke slide between them.
"You still think it was all my fault," she looked at him. Longer than she wanted to allow herself.
Tommy fixed his eyes onto the ground.
Minnie could feel the hurt fly fierce into her eyes. She threw her cigarette on the ground.
Tommy watched her blue sneaker grind it into the gravel.
He watched her feet turn and begin walking away; shoes scratching.
Fuck, she never looks back, he thought.
"Minnie," he said, after her.
Tommy...
"Minnie," he said, again.
And she stopped walking.
Tommy had never seen Minnie cry before, so he went to her and he held her.

They were in Tommy's bedroom.
On the bed and near the open window, they passed the joint between each other, but not words.
The radio played.


I lose my head
I close my eyes
They won't touch me
'Cause I got somethin'
I been buildin' up inside
For so fuckin' long
They're out ta get me
They won't catch me
I'm fuckin' innocent
They won't break me


Tommy roached the joint, then put it inside his cigarette tin; tossed it onto his pillow. He put his hand on Minnie's bare knee.
"I want you to meet Lydia," he said, biting his lip.
"Who?" Minnie asked, as Tommy stood up.
He walked over to his closet doors.



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