Almost Famous

Girls like her, they're the wallflowers of the industry. Floating about the crowd like a faceless figure, sliding in between the shadows of high society. Like does caught in headlights, their wide eyes constantly spinning within their tiny skulls trying to take in their surroundings, eager to impress and desperate for attention.

Unlike her counterparts, she shrouds herself in a cloud of indifference. Her clumsily polished scarlet nails wrapped loosely around a damp champagne glass that she lifts ever so often to her lips, which are rouged to match the color of her nails. She does not wear as much drugstore make-up as the others, her skin is tanned a light amber brown. She passes on last season's couture, or the cheap ebay equivalents, instead her wardrobe is a mishmash of ill-fitting flea market pieces that cling haphazardly to her tiny frame. She wears minimal jewelry, save for a couple of chunky silver rings she bought off a bum in San Francisco.

She sits there misty-eyes, dissolving into her surroundings. Her nonchalance lifts for a moment, when from the corner of her eye she watches as he enters the crowd. He trudges through the frenzy of flung-open arms, the clouds of air kisses, like bullets, that whiz pass his cheek. As he moves gracefully from one social circle to another, he passes the girl. Their eyes meet for a split second and he gives her a smile of acknowledgment. She returns an awkward wave, not without first spilling half her drink down the front of her shirt. With a sympathetic chuckle he goes back on his rounds.

"Call me if you need a rescue, we live in the same city"

"I think I live in a different world"