Warpaint - The Fool -deluxe Edition- -2011- Access

June thought of her mother crying in the kitchen, pretending to chop onions. She thought of herself in the school parking lot last week, watching her ex-best friend get into another girl’s car without looking back.

“The warpaint.” The Fool tapped her temple. “In your head. The sound you make when you’re trying to be brave but you’re really just a fool.” Warpaint - The Fool -Deluxe Edition- -2011-

The Fool pulled a crumpled set list from her jacket pocket. It was handwritten on the back of a receipt: June thought of her mother crying in the

June walked toward it, barefoot, the gravel biting. “In your head

The Fool opened her eyes. They were the color of wet asphalt after a storm—no, wait. They shifted. Gold. Green. A sad kind of brown.

“Paint me,” the Fool said. “Before the sun comes up. Before I have to go back to the highway.”

They didn’t speak again until the sky turned the color of a faded bruise. The cassette deck clicked off. The Fool stood, brushed the dirt from her slip, and kissed June on the forehead—cold lips, warm breath.