If you were religious, you’d pray for the snow to melt for once in this town. You’d pray for a lot of things before that, though. One being that Kenny didn’t live so fucking far away -- far being a ten minute walk on your part -- or that you at least had a car to burn gas with to see him.
The fog of your breath makes you wish you’d grabbed your cigarettes, but you decide that it wouldn’t be a good idea to smoke right now anyway. For the last two months you’ve been particularly close to death every time you attempt to get from point A to point B, and your voice is starting to turn gravely and hoarse. The coughing has yet to come, but with the rate you’re going, it won’t be long until you’re coughing up unidentified sludge.
The crunch of snow is aggravating. It’s just a remind that your shoes are wearing thin, and that you have to shuffle through mounds of a more liquid based ice as you make your way across Kenny’s lawn and up to his window.
There’s no need to do that. His mom won’t notice and his dad isn’t home, just like every night; but it’s routine and you like to keep things the same.
“I’m here to look at your pussy, baby.”
You whisper through his window, elfish face pulled tight by a vulgar smile.