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"If the Israeli assault stopped today, and we decided to hold a funeral every single day for each Palestinian killed in the last eight months, it would take us 100 years to honor them all."
The Palestinian speaker at the UN Security Council highlights the devastating toll of casualties among Palestinians resulting from the Israeli genocide in Gaza.
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Eddie is hanging out with Steve and just casually drops, “by the way, I’ve been selling cocaine to your parents for like three years now.”
He kinda expects Steve to be mad about it but Steve is just like, “Why the fuck did I get grounded for a month for a contact high when they are doing blow? They took my car.”
Steve pauses and then adds, “You gotta come to family dinner on Saturday. It’d be so funny.”
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Thinking about seeing a Friday the 13th double feature at the theater with best-friend Steve. You’ve both seen them on VHS countless of times, not to mention when they arrived on the big screen. But you again because he knows you prefer horror to any genre. He’s watching you when he thinks you’re not looking, and is completely oblivious when you’re staring at him. Fingers brushing sharing a popcorn, one large Coke to drink with one straw to share - the other fell between the seats, but neither of you care.
It’s he who jumps first, his massive waves tickling your face as he buries his head into your neck, stubble scratching along your jugular (where your pulse suddenly begins to race). He can feel it, and no one has time to react as a shattering of glass from the movie makes you react this time, curling around him. You just simply… hold one another and then you’re releasing with ease. Heartbeats unsteady, Steve briefly bouncing a jean clad knee, Nike shoe sticking to the floor. And you, you’re chewing on your thumbnail, nearly peeling the fresh black paint free.
By the time the movie ends, however, barely anyone can see the two of you backed into a cove by the snack counter. Coke soaked lips, salted butter and sweet candy coated treats on your tongues, his breath mingling with your own, to the wet sounds of your kissing. Your back is piled into the plastered wall, neon in your peripherals, one massive hand pinching at the lace trimming at the bottom of your shirt, the other cupping your face, fingertips tracing at your neck’s nape - making sure you can really feel him, what he can do. You cling to his shoulders, arms beneath his arm pits, squeezing the muscles beneath. Occasionally, he’ll switch up the path of his mouth and allow it to dance across your jawline, over your ear, ending at your neck, that nose nudging all across your face with each kiss.
You’re buzzing, shivering inside. His pupils are blown, glazed over when he does look at you, colors of red, blue, pink, orange, and purple hues reflected in his irises due to the scenery.
More. You want more. You need more. You have to have more.
And so does he…
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