#pcpstr

winter tugged dove's shirt over her head. it was aggressively beige, the color of unbuttered popcorn. definitely not her style, but whatever. it covered things. "define 'this'," she said, looking at her arms that were swallowed by the sad, oatmeal embrace of the shirt. why did every ugly shirt feel like paper towels? "because, if you mean sex, i could be convinced," she deadpanned. "or are you asking if i wanna keep modeling suburban momwear for your personal amusement?"