An oozing plastic parfait cup overturned on the ground
her name, something symbolic, like Justice or Hope
a wearer of enormous, dangly earrings, a sweet voice that seems to hinge perpetually on tears
lipstick-smeared pink on the plastic lid of her coffee cup
kneeling on the burgundy carpet, mopping up the glob of spilt yogurt.
her body scrubbing beneath the row of desks in front of me
(floral-print dress, pronounced makeup, furry boots)
The smell of soured milk wafted up in my direction, mingling with the coffee.
It felt obscene.
*
My first short piece of erotic fiction, "The Roommate & the Punk Rocker," has been published on Clean Sheets. It's a touchstone piece, in many ways. I wrote this one in a feverish state over the summer. As these things go.
The Safety Pin Review has some photos up by our first operative at Occupy Wall Street. Bitchin'.
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