She drew cracks on her face with a grease pencil. Stenciled in sepia and lye for all the world to see. Her forked tongue spoke of effort and adulation for my eyes and adoration. Meanwhile, she peddled pictures of her porcelain profile to peripheral paramours. Lovers named Instagram, Facebook and Snapchat.
It was all so very predictable. The very mantra of the religiously insecure. She was a rancid vintage, badly aged and fermenting. Using her inebriation to mask her spoilage. Stem and leaves and mice cabernet.
10:46 p.m. - 2015-11-03
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