The ring light made everything look better than it was. The 200 dollar LED light made her one-bedroom apartment look like a studio.
She checked the comment feed. Four hundred and twelve viewers. Not bad for a Thursday.
“Okay, okay.” She leaned into the camera. “So I’m at this club in Brentwood last weekend, right, and “This dude says, ‘You’re pretty funny for your age.’ I said, ‘Thanks. You’re pretty confident for a man built like a baked potato.’”
The comments scrolled. Laughing emojis. A row of fire icons. Someone typed LMAOOOO in all caps, and she felt the small warm hit of it, the same hit she always chased.
“For my age. I’m in my forties, not dead. Although” She picked up her wine glass. “Some mornings.”
More comments. More fire. She was finding her rhythm, the place where the words came loose and easy, when the lamp on the bookshelf behind her clicked off.
