Pints of fluid: the by-product of actions that I do not want to repeat. Yet I have no choice. There is never any choice, everything is inevitable, and every choice is made for you. Made by history. A little unnerved he sits hammering away at the scabby flesh between his legs. Flakes of brown and red, little trickles of blood running down his thighs. A map of some river delta seen from a hundred miles high.
2 comments:
Fucking excellent.
Wish I'd written that.
wonderful!
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