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November 28, 2011 / Keely

Seat G16-17

Cornered by Kool-Aid fire red pubic hair and a holy malice encountered only in dreams of Lucifer, she, between the spit, whispered, “I love you,” wafting with over-digested Junior Mints and silky candle wax stained inebriation.

The movie was finished – they’d been seated far past the credits – and the little boy janitors with their little boy trousers never grew the guts to interrupt the concoction of tongue slamming, primal whelps and Molotov yelps.

The two horny toads laughed, echoing Howlin’ Wolf, siren-like from their cracked skulls; life couldn’t touch them and God just chose not to look.

Written by Mitchell Duran

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