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I discreetly listen to the young Bravos strut like a rooster in front of his buddies. His hood is pulled over the top of his head, covering his close-cropped hair—likely as an attempt to look cool, though I can’t quite tell what kind of vibe he’s going for.

I play with the ring, watching the light dance on the polished metal’s surface as I roll it between my fingers. A ray of sunlight catches the part of the band that had been transformed into a diamond, the brilliance nearly bringing tears to my eyes as I squint. I let out a long sigh and shake my head at the obvious. How could it have been otherwise?

I let my doll take a sip of Arcolano Milk, feeling the liquid glide down her esophagus as if it were my own. Her taste buds are bathed in these flavors—now familiar, yet still intoxicating—and her head begins to hum, like bubbles rising in harmony with my cervical ganglia.