My hoodie's crimson.

So what.

"Up yours."
"Where?"
"Up yo butt."

...

I turn.
She's following.
Flare up my hoodie.
Now she can spot me.

...

"Why do you carry that thing with you all the time?"
"Lalala not listening."
"Its red and conspicuous."
"Not the point."

...

Its hot.
July.
Sweat rolling in beads.
Wrap the sleeves around my waist.
Let go of this?
No way.

...

I'm flying!
Running across the waves.
Ocean sprays my face.
Its windy.
Got my hoodie.
I'm fine.

...

She's so scared.
In that alleyway.
Curled up next to that dumpster.
Eyes rolled into her waxy eyelids.
She knows she'll be arright.
She's got that bloody thing across her lap.

...

Slurp.
"It's so annoying when you do that."
Slurp.
"Thats why you do it, dont you?"
Slurp.
"That hoodies ugly. I'm leaving."
Slurp.
Quiet chuckle.
Slurp.

...

"Yvonne, she's wearing that nasty thing again."
"I know. Its red. I can spot it from China."
"This is a wedding reception. She has no respect."
"She doesnt care, though.."
"What DOES she care about? I'm throwing her out."

...

Crimson.
Then a softer red.
Its cotton and its lovely.
Geometric designs.
Its got a smear of toothpaste on it that never came out.
Its so lovely.
She wore it when she first met him.

...

So cold.
The hoodie's not nearly good enough to keep her warm.
Doesnt care.
Its got significance.
Memories.
Tells the chapters of her life.
Its also when she first met him.

...

"..Your hoodie's faded out."
"Yeah? So what?"
"I like it."
"..Thanks."