he like the way she said, "shit." she would say it and it would pop off her tongue like a marshmellow and he would eat it and swallow it and it would taste so good. so good in a way a song is so good that it explodes into million pieces and comes down like sequins in your hair. they come into your body and make it wiggle with joy. she wiggled when somehting made her so happy and he liked that, too. she had skinny wrists and sometimes she wished she smoked cigarettes so she could hold something between her fingers. but she didn't because she knew better. and anyway she was twenty and she thought twenty was too old to start smoking. she'd never admit this though. he used to smoke and he would call them cigs and she would call them cigs or ciggies depending on the way it slipped off her tongue. but then he quit and smoked them only when he was drunk. and then he quit all together. and she was proud of him.