Strangers on a
Train
The years were not
being
kind to her at the
holiday
office party, a decade
or
two removed from
brash
waitress days, bragging
of
taking a gap year on her
back with a Euro Pass
to
sample all the dicks
on
the continent. Apparently,
none of them stood
out
from the others or
were
distinguished enough
to
hang around, judging
by
the way all the seven
year
itch men were sniffing
around
her as if she were the
only
strange, warm pussy in
town
they could ever hope to
get
close to. The thought was:
to broach the subject of
how
did her dick sampling gap
year go or to let the
subject go
altogether allowing both of
us
to pretend we’d never
worked
the same shift, that she
was still
the same hot babe who
smoked
and talked like a
stevedore,
drank like an ironworker
and
fucked like a
pay-as-you-go
gigolo. That the first
evidence
of drinker’s bloat hadn’t
begun
to stretch her skin and all
the chain
smoked butts hadn’t but a
vat of
whiskey in her
voice.
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