Man in picture. Another sin.

I love that there are turtles. The head sticks out like a penis yet they have such grace and dignity. They couldn’t be less concerned with any of us. They appear a little grim but I bet they’re not. What they are is stoic and determined. Not here to fuck around. You guess their sex by the curve of the shell underneath.

It comforts me to think they can retreat inside their armored selves so easily. I think I want to be a sea turtle. I understand they live longer than humans. I really hope they live in peace.

She’s thick and dark and tall. Green eyes wearing business casual, barely too tight. Lips like pillows and eyes like almonds. Hands and nails immaculate, she reaches for her drink with unlikely grace. White blouse against African skin as I stop breathing for a few seconds.

She nods, so I ask if I may. Yes, she says. Her smile is perfect. A gust of femininity. I sit.

I ask to buy her a drink, she demonstrates a full one. Not yet.

Bellini in a flute.

She is beautiful. She smells of butter and violets

Where am I? Jacked up on vicodin, my tooth seems to be on AM while I’m on FM. Good news. I think about my rabbit and remember the gore. Legs ache a little.

She’s the only thing not far away.

I look at her. Hips wide, legs long and lips glisten. Teeth shine.

Smells like god just left the room.

Her name is Claire.

She extends her hand and mocks me a little when she asks, “rough day?”

A walk in the park I tell her.

She tells me her favorite hair band is April Wine. She likes Vonnegut and Bradbury. Taffy, Zots and any sour or squishy candy. She says Primus are white boy funk but admits they can play. She’s despondent over the quality of local news. She’s a legal secretary. A hint of cleavage, bust straining against the fabric of an ivory blouse.

She’s voting for Obama.

She loves Luther, of course.

I ask her about frozen diet meals, she’s non-committal. We agree whatever is on sale.

We cheers and clink a few times. Then some more.

We drink awhile and she throws down one of those cool Amexes. One of the clear ones that looks like a small laser disc.

She picked up the tab.

I decide to show her my penis.

I take her to the handicapped stall in the men’s. She rests her foot on the rail while removing her silk and I go down on her. She likes it.

Flesh consumes me. I’m helpless. Fragrance so ripe I can’t stand it.

Seconds later I wake up with dark testicles on my chin and I’m gagging.

Her teeth are black. She laughs to mock me. Eyes red and bleeding. Pink lingerie contrasts purple skin and leaking sores. She wears a black vinyl duster, thigh high boots with a stiletto heel. Some stupid military hat.

A cock the size of a high caliber handgun and she waves it while cackling.

She stinks like a bog.

We’re in my room , there’s that knife in my luggage.

How did we get here?

Wait. Wait. Wait. She’s wearing.

I wake up alone.

It occurs to me I’ve shit myself.

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