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

It was a stupid chore to assign at 10 p.m., but her mother had been crying again—the soft, gulping kind that didn’t ask for help—and June needed to disappear. So she took the sponge and the hose into the damp California night, and she scrubbed the ghost of her father out of the paintwork.

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

The Fool was already walking backward into the fennel, dissolving like a song you try to hum but forget the melody of. Warpaint - The Fool -Deluxe Edition- -2011-

She touched her forehead. The paste had transferred. A tiny white streak, sharp as a razor, soft as a breath.

The first time June saw the Fool, she was washing her mother’s car in the dark. It was a stupid chore to assign at 10 p

“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.”

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. “Before the sun comes up

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.