Friday, September 12, 2014

The World's Tiniest Orgy

Flies fucking.
 Psychedelic Deathpunk Page Under These Words


We’re sitting on her back porch, drinking vodka and Red Bull. Her dirty bare feet rest on an ottoman of three stacked tires. She waves a fly away from her face and says, “I’ve been evaluating myself.”

     “Yeah?” I say after a sip of my drink. We’re drinking out of Styrofoam, using a closed toilet as a table (some kind of Duchampian statement, I believe).

     “Yeah. I think I might have low self-esteem.”

     “What makes you think so?”

     “I avoid certain situations because I’m afraid I’ll make a fool of myself.”

     “Like what?”

     She looks away toward the street. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

     “Okay.”
 


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