Pick a song//nari bang

Two days later the ears are still popped, snot is blowing out the nose. Woke up with lungs like blood, knew I’d held the knife. Nari bang, Nari bang, I said I didn’t like it, waited until the soju dropped down my throat. Cracked a can of Mountain Dew, swished mix together in the mouth.

The Billy Corgan chords came out the speakers, I was jumping on the couch. Channel Courtney, train wreck messy, tossed chin at the ceiling and let her rip. No second billing, because you’re a star now. Oh Cinderella, they aren't sluts like you.

In the middle of the book are English songs for foreign use. We picked our favourites off pink pages, keyed the numbers in. The lights spun round the five of us, watched us belt out on the table.

In the muddy grey lit morning begged for honey tea. They told me I’d spent the night screaming, had done it to myself. To which I shook my head, said of course, and told them: when I said I didn’t like karaoke, I meant I couldn’t sing.