Neophyt

You walk up the steps, uncomfortably because of the dress shoes you never wear and the shirt you never tuck in. You don’t know how these things go, though. You hope your deodorant is worki- fuck. You just remembered you got the deodorant without the anti-perspirant. You try to keep your arms down at your side as much as possible. You see lots of faces, some you remember, lots you do not. You hope that the 2 Altoids you popped in the car will cover up the cigarettes they followed. You know they won’t, though. These are good people, they don’t smoke. Right? Can these people smoke? Probably not. They’ll see through your plan, down to your browning lungs and yellowing teeth. You are, perhaps, their vision of Satan himself. You spot your friend, you’re not entirely happy with them at this point. You are even second guessing why you’re friends with them in the first place. They recognize your discomfort and you both walk ahead of everyone else and sit down. You ironically pray that this will become easier with time.

Neophyte

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