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just a picture of a cloud
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It had been about two weeks ago that Johnny had gotten high and looked in the mirror.

It was afternoon on a Tuesday or a Wednesday, everyone had been out and he'd had a spliff, sitting on the roof of the trailer in the last of the Arizona sunlight. He'd gone inside to get a drink or take a piss or whatever, and the mirror had been there and he'd been in it. His face had fascinated him in that moment; the curvature of it, the texture of his skin, the peach fuzz moustache that he wished would grow out. Johnny had looked at his thin nose, he'd looked at his crooked teeth and he'd looked into his own too-large, too-wide eyes and seen there the exact expression that was on Raina's face now.

There was a mixture of wonderment and horror drawn there. It wasn't entirely attractive.

Johnny said nothing, but pushed the door closed, testing the handle to make sure it shut tight.

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