“‘Zona, have you been trying on my clothes again? My pants are all too big.” Freja asked as she slid on her favorite booger colored jacket. It reminded her of the first time she met Nico, in which he put his dried nasal mucus all over he Isabel Marant jeans.
“Yes! I found this new miracle food,” Arizona replied replies from bed, then reached over to the nightstand and opened a drawer, retrieving a box of Twinkies. “I hear that the only things that would be left after a nuclear blast would be roaches and Twinkies,” Arizona comments, marveling at the indestructible dessert cake.
Freja seemed angered by this so Arizona continued adding things to the list, hoping to making things right, ” Cockroaches… Twinkies and…Stam?”
While Freja was sure that Stam’s plastic would remain, this was not the answer she was looking for. “Our love,” Freja said quietly, pinching at the loose band on her shorts.
“Yes! Totally,” Arizona agreed, “Even without arms, I’ll still want to wrap you in my arms!”
This romantic post-apoctalypic vision made Freja smile and she sauntered over to the bed asking, “How many of those have you eaten, Momma Muse?”
“Um…just a couple,” Arizona said, a little ashamed, “I promise it was no more than the two boxes Wixson ate last time Cfree tricked her into getting high!” (In which Charlotte told the chubby cheeked Witchita native that it was a new way to light scented candles. Wixson was intrigued by fire because her father never let her play with it as a kid. After the Great Cornfires of 2007, matches had been outlawed in Kansas and everyone had to switch to smokeless tabacco).
“I haven’t had a Twinkie in a while because of the bad memories,” Arizona said, sad, as she brushed the crinkley plastic wrapper off the bed.
Freja quickly climbed back into bed and held Arizona’s hand, crumbs filling the slight indention made with Freja’s braceleted arm. “What happened?” she asked delicately.
“Before I met you…” Arizona started explaining. “Before I met you, I was up for a Twinkie modeling job. All the other girls were disqualified because they started grabbing their tummies and sobbing when they saw the plate of Twinkies. In the end, it turned out to be a bust…they chose to go with a different model.”
“Which model?” Freja asked, knowing she won’t recognize the name of a Twinkie girl.
“Some stupid cartoon animal that didn’t even have three demensions. Why does he even need the job? He’s a cartoon. He doesn’t have a baby to feed. Or, like, I don’t know, he could just draw the baby some food if he does. But don’t worry, my Danish lesbian. I won’t get fat like Daphne. Last time I shot with Terry, he taught me a new exercise called Kegels!”
***NOTE: THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION****