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Weekly Contest #347
One night in spring I found a ladybug at a punk gig. If you asked me then, I couldn’t tell you if it was march or may, but it was the dead of night, under a starless sky. I was eighteen, with a fake ID and hair that had never seen a brush, but I had somehow managed to spike out like one of those underwater mines in Nemo. My eyes stung with eyeliner and mascara. I had too many grams of cocaine in my system and my legs wobbled under my sixty kilos. The ground rocked with the beat. The crowd was howling, and I was too, but I couldn’t hear my o...
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