Hallowed Sorts
I APPLY MORE LACQUER to the box. I hate varnish, but I want Rosemary to be impressed; my gift features seraphim as well as cherubim. I think she’s enamored of saints, too, but I don’t understand all hallowed sorts—my religion is partying.
It was at a happening that I met that brown-haired beauty. To Rosemary, the smokeout wasn’t a social event, but a site for proselytizing. For me, the fest was a chance to hotbox without buying. I’m behind in rent; I’ve got nothing extra for cheeba.
Anyway, that mack mommy was praising the good life to Theo and Jace before I approached. I guess my stagger impressed her.
She refused the plastic cup I offered, but willing sat with me in a corner. I ignored my boys’ hoots and whistles. Rosemary is all about propriety and clean living. I sti
