Tuesday, 16 December 2014

No Cunters for Grunters

That fool.

That fool that pressed up against me and thought she was so clever.

She wasn't wearing a bra under her lace-patterned blouse. It seemed like she wanted me to notice, so I did.

I did, but I didn't like it.

She reminded me of all the girls I went to high school with. The ones that liked to press themselves against the boys and undress to their knickers. They'd hold cameras at arms length and pout perfectly like they were impossibly good at life. And they were. Blissfully ignorant, comfortable with their own stupidity, and loving all the lusciousness that life had offered up to them. It always seemed to offer a better menu to them than the one I got. I used to think we were all in the same restaurant and I'd simply been given the wrong menu, but it turns out I wasn't even in the same suburb. I was out in the boondocks with my face in a pig's trough, snorting through scraps and pushing through piles of shit.

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