The Bathroom Girl Who Becomes Your Best Friend for 6 Minutes

I exist in the gasp between songs, the crack in the foundation where the wild things slip through. My lipstick stains your glass because I’ve already adopted your disasters as my own. Here, borrow my lighter to burn the map. We’ll laugh until the smoke alarms screech, and when you stumble back to the dance floor, I’ll be halfway into someone else’s crisis. Don’t worry—I leave the best kind of ghosts.