Hooking Up
By J.M. Snyder
We arrange to meet at Fairpark Mall because
neither of us is ready to bring the other home just yet. It’s been
three weeks since we met, an eternity online, but I’m still
cautious. I know what he says he looks like, know who he claims to
be, but nowadays you never can tell.
I’m waiting outside the food court, leaning
back against the wall with my hips thrust forward and the usual
scowl on my face. My black clothes must look like a bruise against
the whitewashed bricks. Through my dyed bangs, I watch people avoid
looking at me as they pass. Most grimace at my goth getup; a brave
few laugh. f**k them.
Damien’s late.
For the hundredth time since I agreed to meet
him in person, I wonder if that’s his real name. I wonder what
he’ll call me. I go by Brok
