she didn’t have time to suffer, or even to grieve, each time he’d thrust his organ deeply into her, her face had distorted. each time he did so, the squeals turned to something like sobs. the small hole in the pink that peeked out between the lips of her vagina would remain open at those…
Tag: Narrative
Hookah Bar
She sat outside a hookah bar nondescript small place in the center of a low income district sipping ice tea spiked with shots of rum she’d bought for 99 cents a liquor store with bars on the windows – she blew smoke rings that came out like puff balls and ate cheap over-salted curry –…
Piecework Prose 