Lying there still, I�m sweating because of body heat and I�m not wearing any underwear. I close my eyes and I�m visualizing it on the ground next to the black and red courier bag that I wear to work everyday that rides shotgun with me everywhere I drive. It�s white with a pink lace stripe and a thong in case you needed the visual. I think about what�s in that bag. It�s my life or at least my life now. My wallet, a PDA that�s saved all the useless information from the last 5 years, some sharpies, some drawings, a future tattoo, some whims, a bottle of water, my meds and my car keys (you get the picture) �most of all it�s a way out from this 6:51 am that is all too familiar. I see my bag, I see my underwear, one of my sandals and I don�t see my bra but I know it can�t be too far from it. My jean skirt and black GAP favorite t-shirt is on my person because I had to get up to pee and brush my teeth. The boy next to me is named Scott. I assure him that I am not a slut and that I always carried my toothbrush with me in that bag next to the floss and the hair elastics and the lotion. I am not being honest with him. He tells me that he isn�t dating anyone else right now and that he is looking for a relationship, a committed relationship. I tell him that I am not either- which is the truth that second and that moment and I to am looking for a committed relationship but I leave out the part that I doubt severely that it is with him. At that second in time he is making me hate Allston Massachusetts and Sunday mornings and that I think I hear my Mother calling and the irony of my life is that I�m laying in bed with my eyes burning from the mascara from the night before staring at a Norman Rockwell picture on his wall surrounded by plaid curtains hating both plaid and Norman Rockwell more intently than I thought I ever could think I could in my life. The sex, it was good but it just reminded me of, well me.

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