Sitting in a Starbucks in Chelsea with my pale laptop and some lukewarm camomile tea. The gentle liquid sits inside the unpredictable red lipstick-stained lid and I feel for the tea. I'm embarrassed to share space with this lid.The red looks less like lipstick and more like crayon. Like...when I had my head turned to eyeball the pretty gay boys that frequent this joint, some parent-less child whipped out his (or her) box of colors and in an angry whim, just went to town on my biodegradable container.
This is a photo of my cousin Jibz. She's a performance artist. She doesn't normally look like this is real life. (I swear.) The question is, what's my cup's excuse?
It's the cup's fault.