Five-Two-Three
Lauren R.D. Fox for the CHAS Women Of Color Conference, Short Story Submission
I got lost on my way here.
I went to the wrong place because as a New Yorker, I don’t read building numbers. I show up.
And, now that the television light pours over your body, I’m not sure how I even trusted myself to be rubbing your bottom lip in between my two lips. You see, I’m not supposed to be here, or at least, that’s what I tell myself.
Before this night, I stuck to the script. It said it will take me to the place I’ve been meaning to go to. But after tonight, I’m not so sure I can abide by it anymore. You see, its writers are moving on.
They’re looking into retirement homes, condos with their boyfriends and even changed their phone numbers. I no longer know them like how I used to and somehow in between the DMs, phone calls and you telling me how you planned to mess up my lipstick, I know you. I know this script. Shit, we created it, by me consenting to take a chance on myself, then you and maybe on this; all in the name of friction and pink matter.
And although this fuck may only last one night, your elevator kiss made me realize you don’t require the same amount of details I need, to find your way. You show up, even without needing a building number.



















