We dip our heads over the bleak

white bathtub,

pour the purple substance

over our hair,

giggling

as the sensation so like

someone cracking

an egg

on our heads

continues until our hair is

covered with the liquid,

Kool-aid. Grape.

Dying hair can be so easy,

yet so hard.

We dry, as much

as possible,

and go downstairs

to take shots of

chocolate milk

like tequila.

This was the best day

of our friendship.

We touch the sharpie

markings

on our wrists,

laughing

at the words on them.

Forever Tomatoes.

An inside joke.

Like

everything

else.