HORSES - evelyn jeandron

My big brother’s #1 rule for dealing with women: stay the fuck away from girls who are really into horses.

But she’s so pretty, I think, as she rambles on and on about Snow Shoe, her tender loving horse. Pretty in a screwed up kinda way, like Victoria’s Secret underwear hugging that precious little puss and delicate little self-mutilation scars running up her inner thighs. Anyway, I’d put money on it. I know the type. Snow Shoe, apparently, has saved her from committing suicide, from running away, from murdering her rich parents in their sleep. What a horse...

What a crazy fucking girl! She runs out for a smoke every ten minutes, but it only takes her thirty seconds to finish one. And what do I do? I sit here and wait. I buy her another beer when her pint glass gets empty. I listen to Snow Shoe story after Snow Shoe story, hoping I get to find out if I’m right about the underwear. And the scars.