Corine had a mass of hair that hung around her head like a despondent willow, and slithered down to her waist, making a delicate dress of Spanish moss along her back. It was fantastically dramatic, sweeping grandly when she twisted her body, training behind her creating a wake, a phantom memory of where she just was. The color was the toasted gold of rich wheat but Corine refused to be called a common blond, or a dirty anything. She would wriggle her small, upturned nose at you and insist it was Strawberry.
She enjoyed an oceanic depth in her cleavage, and always wore large gold hoops in her ears. Corine liked the way heels arched her feet and back, it was the posture she felt most confident, the python cradling of her hair cinching her midriff and making her chest pop. She was an easy flirt, and she laughed at everyone's jokes. At 21, 27, and 30 Corine was proud she was just as she was at 18, the same height and weight, she could wear the same clothes, she was devoted to the same bands, and the light chocolate freckles were still on her fragile, pale cheeks. Sometimes when she bought cigarettes she felt a thrill, like she was still sneaking smokes hanging out her bedroom window at night.
Something had changed and Corine wasn't sure what. She always had a sense of deja vu, every time she turned a corner, or walked into work. She seemed to have precognition with the bar jukebox, and the songs were losing their luster like a waning moon. It baffled her, after all she was just the same as 18, she even still her had her Camaro even though now it had a baby seat wedged in the back.
She enjoyed an oceanic depth in her cleavage, and always wore large gold hoops in her ears. Corine liked the way heels arched her feet and back, it was the posture she felt most confident, the python cradling of her hair cinching her midriff and making her chest pop. She was an easy flirt, and she laughed at everyone's jokes. At 21, 27, and 30 Corine was proud she was just as she was at 18, the same height and weight, she could wear the same clothes, she was devoted to the same bands, and the light chocolate freckles were still on her fragile, pale cheeks. Sometimes when she bought cigarettes she felt a thrill, like she was still sneaking smokes hanging out her bedroom window at night.
Something had changed and Corine wasn't sure what. She always had a sense of deja vu, every time she turned a corner, or walked into work. She seemed to have precognition with the bar jukebox, and the songs were losing their luster like a waning moon. It baffled her, after all she was just the same as 18, she even still her had her Camaro even though now it had a baby seat wedged in the back.
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