jamie soledad ☼ three fin

Okay, before we get started, I think it should be noted: I am not exactly a reliable narrator at this current moment, because I thought today was Sunday and got totally baked this morning before I realized it was actually Monday. So bare with me, here. Frankly, I don't know why this can't wait 'til tomorrow but you asked about me, which is really cute. So I guess I'll get started.

My name is Jamie Soledad, and I'm kind of in-between jobs at the moment. I'm really good at, like, technology or whatever, but I'm sort of against the institution of it, so I try to do my own thing most of the time. I'm only eighteen but I have worked as, uh, let me think: a busboy at a diner, a janitor at a preschool, and bartender. You know what's really weird? All three of those jobs deal with a suspicious amount of vomit. I dunno, it just seems strange, right? I keep landing these chicken-shit gigs cleaning up puke, what the fuck?

Anyway, none of that is what I really want to do. That's the way it goes though, right? No one wants to work and if they do then they probably grew up in, like, a stable and happy home or some shit. And this is Panem. So... not likely. I'm really good at drawing- Lovett let me paint the living room wall a, like, mural or whatever, of fruits and vegetables at war with each other, and she bought a bunch of cushions and pillows and shit to match it. Love that bitch.

Oh, Lovett? She's my wife! Don't worry, it's not in a weird, like, We Got Married Way Too Young And Are Doomed For Failure thing. I don't even like girls like that. Completely platonic. It's just, uh, my dad is... well, let's just say he really, really wanted me to play sports when I was little. And Luv had some shit going on too, so we got married and now we get to reap the tax benefits and live together, which is like, sick.

Oh but don't worry: if this ends up going anywhere, she and I can totally divorce, it's not even a problem.

Am I talking to much? I feel like you haven't gotten a word in edgewise. What about you? What's your job?

Oh, yeesh... Sorry, that sounded more harsh than I meant it to. Gotta do what you gotta do, I guess. It's just sales, you know? Leaves a bad taste in the mouth, I guess. Too broad. What do you sell, like furniture? It's like, most boring job ever: accounting. Second: couch salesman.

What do you mean I already know what you sell?

Oh, you meant drugs haha. I'm so stupid, sorry. Yeah, I know that's how we met, I just... I guess figured you would count that as more of, like, a hobby. Anyway, uh what else... oh fucking christ. Don't look, don't look, it's my ex. Well, I say ex. We like hooked up twice in an alleyway. God, he's here with his wife. They look like they're posing for a magazine. Shit, shit, shit, he's coming over. Should we stay or leave? Stay or leave? Hurry he's getting close, we have to-

Oh my god! Brian! Jasmine! What are you guys doing here? It has been forever, yes you look great have you guys been working out? Oh my god, wow! Oh, this? Him, I mean? This is uh- oh, fuck. Wait no, don't tell me. Um, C- C- Chri- no, uh, Chr- Cho... Cody? Oh, Pedro... Right. Uh, yeah anyway this is- wait, no don't go! Ah, fuck.

Uh, anyway, it was good seeing you guys. Try the shrimp, it's amazing. Okay, um... bye.