Red nail varnish on plump toes.
Janet is wearing a white patterned dress, inside
of which every sizable curve and crease is painfully visible. I take another
biscuit like a good boy and smile. It’s a poor, unconvincing effort. Janet
hustles on back to her desk and necks a few pills, HRT to bump up her falling
oestrogen and keep her blooming. She fans herself with her hand; the open
window and two electric fans fail to ventilate her.
A thousand gallons of water
couldn’t cool that ruddy warm mask.
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