A Tiny Drabble
"God, that was a total waste of time," Jubilee groaned.
She punted a dark blue plastic bag into the recreation room with little care for its lumpy content.
"Seriously," she continued, flopping listlessly into an overstuffed, leather chair. "I may as well start living in Wal-Mart sweatpants and tie-dyed tees with, like, Bugs Bunny on them, 'cause the Jubilee look is so completely and totally over."
She examined her fingernails, painted black last night in a fit of gothy despair. She frowned. The color really didn't suit her.
"And look at you," she started in again, gesturing at the assortment of bags and boxes that Jean was arranging on the sofa. "All smug with the vastness of your purchases."
Jean opened a box and, smiling, held up a long skirt of airy, white eyelet cotton.
"At least you can work the whole BoHo thing," Jubilee groused as Jean admired her new clothing. "I just end up looking like Little Orphan Asian Mary-Kate Olsen. Homeless, starving and sad but with less recreational drug use and ever-so-slightly larger boobs."