Sophie has six hundred dollars. A six coupled with two zeros. A powerful threesome. Sophie doesn’t know how to spend her collection. Sophie doesn’t know what is worth it. The question sticks in her mouth, the taste of spoiled milk. And vomit.

Her boyfriend. Gas. A new shirt. That white dress from the biggest store in the mall. A pack of Marlboros. A tattoo of a pink carnation. The bills.

But Sophie has real dreams. Dreams that don’t leave her penniless. Don’t leave her materialistic. Don’t leave her black and blue. They wake her up at 2:38 in the morning, every morning, dripping with sweat and wrapped in her stained, pink sheets. Sophie claws herself from the bed and stands barefoot in the middle of the kitchen, drinking a half empty glass of lukewarm water. Trying to quench her thirst. But really trying to wash the taste of those lips from mouth. Her lips. Which mingle with the sweet taste of her name.

Sophie is still standing in the kitchen when the sun peeks over the heartless skyline. Sophie knows what she wants to spend her six hundred dollars on.