Don’t Sell The Dreams You Should Be Keeping

Prompt: Take a line from a song that you love or connect with. Now forget the song, and turn that line into the title or inspiration for your post.

Ginny cursed under her breath. Last day of the month meant rent coming due and her CD racks were as bare as her bank account. Her classic vinyl had long gone, shortly followed by her decks, and just last month, she had sold her CDs to make rent. She reluctantly hefted her stereo, wondering if it was pawnable, covered in stickers and beat up as it was.

“Fuck,” she said. 

She couldn’t borrow the money. Her parents lived on disability checks and were in near as dire straits. Her friends, what few she had left in this city, were already owed more than smiles and promises. No way would Ramon give her an advance on her paycheque. Stingy bastard.

So that left Angela. Fuck.

She had promised Angela last time, that was it, never again, and Angela had smiled and said, “Sure, Ginny, I understand. You know where to find me if you change your mind.”

Which was why Ginny found herself taking the Muni down to the outer Sunset, running through opening gambits in her mind, reminding herself not to seem too desperate. Of course, it wouldn’t work with Angela–it never did. If you were selling to Angela, you were desperate. It was a buyers’ market.

Angela lived at the far end of Taraval in a squat white-walled house with barred windows and a dirty iron-grilled gate. Ginny buzzed the doorbell and shivered. Even though it was summer, the winds off the ocean were able to whip up perpetual mist, and even when it was sunny downtown, it was often grey out here. Angela liked it, although she made enough money that she could afforded something nicer, Ginny was sure.

She waited five minutes and was about to walk away, more than a little relieved, when Angela’s door creaked open, and Angela herself descended the stairs to meet Ginny at the gate. She looked amazing, thought Ginny resentfully, as she eyed Angela’s draped jewel-toned top and tailored slacks.

“Hi, sis,” said Angela with the wide insincere cheerfulness that was her trademark. “What brings you down this way?”

Ginny bit her lip.



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