All she wanted to do was stay in with her boyfriend and porn, but
he’d booked a suite in the Sheraton. One night’s plush to become
sixteen. In a gift too big with hotel walls, his mates popped up
and sat on the King’s bed. She wore high heels and a shiny frock.
They all ate in a piano-playing restaurant.

That was Friday night. Saturday night she is pissed: a sixteenth party
at home with her Mum and friends. She is dancing to Elvis. Swiftly
a punch-up over records wastes her music. Next Saturday night,
sixteen is a fragment-Girl forgetting her feet. The cat crying outside
is hers; she cannot help.