Cheeto Girl, they called her. And yeah, I'm not joking, they really did call her that. She stumbled around the trailer park all day, dead-eyed, eating cheetos and drooling orange drool. I think she lived with her mother, although I never saw her mother....I don't think she went to school, but that's just because I never saw any evidence of her being in school. One time she came to my door and said, “misahwah buh suh vesweh.” Vesweh? After playing charades with her for about a half hour I understood she wanted to borrow vaseline. Why? “we guh behbuh.” Bebuh? “Weh behbuh! Yaknow, behbuh.” Near as I could figure she needed vaseline to remedy bedbugs. I gave her a jar and told her to keep it. Whatever she was going to do with the stuff to combat bedbugs, I didn't want it back. Later on she came to my door with a ball point pen. I guess it was in return for the vaseline. We take care of each other in this neighborhood....you work your shit job, collect your nut check, whatever it is you do, and you can maintain your fetish or your addiction or whatever with little to no problem (mine's beer, but I digress). Folks are nice. If someone's going to the mailbox they'll be happy to grab your mail for you and everyone knows when to leave you the hell alone. They'll even give you a ball point pen for use of your vaseline. That orange cheeto drool, though? Christ. Turned my stomach. Worst thing I've experienced since my last breathalyser test.
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