I put on a high-cut plaid one-piece swimsuit that was probably too small for me; it sliced my ass into quarters. The past two weeks I’d kept my hotel room at a temperature permitting the least amount of clothing. Fluorescent-kissed cheeks were constant, most of my nights spent swimming laps in the indoor pool and then writhing alone, wet atop a milky white and freshly laundered comforter, to whatever FKA Twigs song turned me on most that day. It was Texas in August, which basically means it was hot.
-The Hairpin
