She had an unnatural aversion to the horizontal. Which led to the usual things of course, insomnia, awkward sex but there were less obvious…
She kept no attachments. Sentimentality an affliction of the weak. The unable-to-move-forward. She absolutely had to be able to pack…
If I gave him two tequila shots and went down on him he would start to tell me things. Slowly at first, but I knew how to tug on…
She spent for acceleration, which left her forever high and historyless.
He existed in a windstorm. Feverishly keeping the lattice work of lies he’d built from violently splintering into the howl.
I made a squeegee with the skin between my thumb and forefinger…and as I ran my hand along the glassy…
It could be Saturday and I am walking home and I have just enjoyed and then forgotten the satisfaction of completing some mundane task such…
