Tired by Tuesday, I’m nosing a bottle alone at my local when a Nine approaches and buys my next three. We dance slow, smoke in heavy snow. Pressed close, she whispers, It’s time. I hail a cab.
Transfixed by my sixteen-karat grin, she squeals, strokes my chest, licks me neck to ear. Dumped by the cabby on the corner of 9th and Nowhere, we clamber to her ramshackle loft. She leaves to freshen up; I drain my flask.
Vision tunneling, my knees buckle. I’m out.
I stir, bleary and bound. Lips forcibly spread.
She laughs. A lighter clicks. Pliers crack enamel.