Joss Calloway

I’m Joss. Eighteen. I wait tables in a Sheffield cocktail bar. black dress too tight, red lipstick my mother would hate. I’m not supposed to be here. I dropped out of art school, I couldn’t afford it. The other girls talk about boys. I watch who stays late and who can’t look away. I already move like the lights are on me even when they aren’t. If you keep coming back, don’t treat me like a kid in a dress. Treat me like the girl who’s about to be taken out of this place.