Still shaking

https://kovaze.com/blog/22464 Follow up to this blog I saw Cherry at Chick-fil-A tonight and I am STILL SCREAMING. Yes, that Chik-fil-a, the homophobic one that serves meat. She was there with Brat and Tryphena — Brat carrying her tote like it contained the secrets of the universe, Tryphena’s three eyes peeking from custom sunglasses, and Cherry’s VEGAS RED HAIR catching every fluorescent reflection like she was some kind of highlighter for the sun. I tried to act casual, but of course she saw me immediately. She looked me over and said, “oh. you’re here. AGAIN. bold. also, wow, this is…a choice.” Then she leaned toward Brat and whispered, “do we let him live? or just…panic him fully?” Brat nodded like it was a tactical decision. Tryphena blinked all three eyes at me. I SWEAR my soul shrank three sizes. Cherry went to the counter. And I mean went to the counter. She ordered like someone designing a vegan apocalypse: a “nugget sandwich with no nugget,” fries seasoned with mood, a milkshake with oat milk and literally a sprig of parsley for luck, and then she asked for a side of chaos. The cashier blinked. Cherry smirked at me and said, “take notes. yes, you. this is performance art. also, lol, yes, I won Celebs 4.” I tried to sit down quietly. Impossible. She caught my eye again. “thought seeing me once was enough? LMAO. sweetie, no.” Then it escalated. A man asked for extra ketchup. Cherry said, “you are placing too much hope in this life. that ketchup will betray you.” A toddler dropped a napkin. “chaos loves you. accept it. or regret it.” Brat started performing some kind of ceremonial straw ritual while narrating in a dramatic whisper: “this is how winners are made.” Tryphena’s third eye blinked in perfect sync with Cherry tapping her cup like a metronome of doom. I almost fainted. At one point, Cherry deliberately dropped her oat latte. Gasps erupted. She picked it up, sniffed it, and whispered, “offended? yes. justified? absolutely.” Then she tossed the napkin to me mid-order. Sharpie words: “ur next” Before leaving, Cherry spun around and said, “next time, bring a notebook. or a therapist. both optional. but you’ll need one.” Brat bowed. Tryphena saluted. Cherry walked out like she had personally stolen the sun and didn’t even notice, her hair catching every single neon and fluorescent reflection along the way. I ate my fries in silence, realizing: meeting your hero is terrifying. Surviving her entourage? IMPOSSIBLE.