There was no doubt in her mind that she was different… she just didn’t know why or how but she believed the empty space inside of her had something to do with it.

All at once the door started to rattle from being kicked as a shrill and hysterical voice screamed obscenities at her. Cujo woke up and walked towards the door, sniffing at it momentarily before he snorted in annoyance and trotted off towards Ashley’s bedroom.

Bitch, whore, cunt, slut; the words poured like a steady stream of acid through the wooden blockade but it didn’t phase her one bit. Instead she leaned back on the couch and placed her hands behind her head, stretching out lightly before she noticed her dog had returned from her room with her sheets in his mouth. She watched curiously amused as he dropped them from his jaws in front of the door and proceeded to lift his hind leg up so that he could relieve himself of them.

Crass yet straight forward, she loved Cujo.

A Starbucks with its trendy names for the size of a coffee cup (because really, doesn’t small suffice as the description for a small cup of coffee?) and its yuppie chic décor was the setting for her and Aiden’s next meeting. Of all the places he had to pick the one in the Beverly Center.

She walked brusquely past all of the shoppers carrying their Club Monaco bags and yelling obnoxiously over the din on their $500 dollar phones. Twice she intentionally tripped a Beverly Hills Mom and a thug wannabe on her way to the shop, making sure to berate her grim reaper of a friend thoroughly.

Just as she suspected, he was sitting in the back corner reading the news paper while sipping on something or other, probably a non-fat no whipped cream hold the cinnamon mocha latte with just a hint of hazelnut.

She sat down across from him and glared at his face through the paper he was reading. He seemed to dutifully ignore it until he noticed smoke rising from the middle of the main story. It was then that he put it down and focused on his friend in front of him.

“Did you vote?” He asked.