His eyes lap at her lonliness. Gravel rolling gently at the bottom of each iris. Their heads mashed into the pillow, faces together, everythings for burying. Greasy hair, they havent washed in days. Yet they are smart enough. They know they are aint. Eliza Doolittle wont speak proper. Sex in a car last night, theyre reliving that. He said make sure its a dark road, theres a warrant out on me. Which made her want him more. River-flow exchanged between their eyes as they fuck wordlessly in the backseat.
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reminds me of a conversation overheard on a greyhound bus somwhere in the middle of Montana - a latethirtysomething up-for-it woman talking about her taste in men ... flawed men, who have perhaps served a little time
I've never forgotten
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now lady - I wanna have a pharmatalk with youz
I don't mean to be intrusive - but if you want to play along, what pharmaceuticals are you on, for how long and why?
how are they paid for?