Rachel Pollon, telling it like it is, was, might be, she wishes
we tweet
It’s hard to make out what language they’re speaking. At first glance I think they might be Italian. But as I eavesdrop further, take them in from behind my hopefully opaque-enough sunglasses, I realize I’m mistaken. None of the sounds emitted from their mouths are remotely familiar.
“Good luck,” I said. I almost slipped her an extra one. But if she hadn’t returned it upon realizing, I would’ve been disappointed by her dishonesty. Then again, maybe if she’d won, she’d have come back and shared her spoils with me. It was all too complicated and weighted. I couldn’t hold her responsible for the moral fabric of the human race. I was glad I suppressed the urge.
