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  • After at least ten minutes of chewing and breathing and tongue stretching and shaping and popping and laughing, she forms the perfect little faded chartreuse watermelon bubble. She proudly smirks at her teeny flavorless reward, while clenching the gummy root of it between her molars. Her friend has not yet popped it with her dirty hand stained with juice from the blackberry bush. She hasn't yet been called to dinner. Here, she's just content exploring her relationship to air, and rhythm and form, and showing off her findings with me. Here, she's just content to make a momentary something.
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