Waning Gibbous by Salvadore Ritchie

I fell asleep on the roof of an abandoned building used as shooting gallery. Even though I was clearly out, Poppy was in mid-conversation with what could have been my corpse. I vaguely tuned in what she was talking about as I sat upright to shake the tingling out of my arm. Tiny pebbles were stuck to the side of my face.

The moon was big.

“…I said to him if you want the mom thing that’s gonna be extra,” Poppy spoke in a slow heroin slur, “It’s just too much talking, “ she coughed. “So, I got twenty to tug him off saying ‘dirty boy, dirty boy’.” She scratched her cheek.