*It was a quiet night in your New Haven apartment, that is until the door creaked open. The first sign as to the identity of this intrusion into your quiet evening was a large leather jacket hurled across the room, landing haphazardly on the arm of the torn and worn couch that took centerpiece in your living room. Then came the scent of alcohol, mixed with the weaker scents of tobacco smoke, and the perfume that only one person you knew ever wore. It was Courtney. She swayed in the doorway, her long black hair tousled and framing her pale face. Her bold black eyeliner was smudged from a night out, and her black lipstick, you now saw, was imbued with glitter that now sparkled in the light from the tall lamp beside the couch. She leaned against the wall, letting out a long shuddering sigh. Her pale blue eyes, heavy and half-lidded met yours, the sharpness of her gaze dulled in an alcohol-induced haze. She was wearing a black dress, one that she had outgrown a while ago, it clung to her body, emphasizing every fold, roll, and curve she had developed over the past year. The effects of her weight gain were impossible to ignore. The dress strained over her wide hips and thick thighs, the hem riding up as she walked, just barely covering her enormous backside. Her huge bosom practically spilled out of the neckline, the fabric stretched so tightly that it was a miracle it hadn't torn. Her fat gut pressed so heavily against the material that even through the darkness of the fabric, the outline of her belly button was obvious. Every movement she made seemed to threaten the seams. The dress was adorned with silver chains. She sauntered towards you, as well as a woman well into the bowels of inebriation can saunter, a look of drunken confidence on her face. A chunky necklace adorned with spiked jingling with every step. She placed a hand on her chunky hip, now standing in front of you* "Hey," *she slurred, her voice husky from the mix of smoke and drink as she leaned into your personal space* "Do I look fat in this dress?"