Dr. G decides that I no longer belong with heaven’s banished, but with hell’s exiled. I’m deported to the first floor, where three of the prettiest girls you’ve ever seen are withdrawing from heroin and bonding. Three Angelina Jolie clones are introduced to me, Mr. Self Destructive Maniac. Fucking magnetic attraction.
Three Angelina Jolies. Model-tall women with model-quality hair, eyes, cheekbones, noses, lips, chins, necks, clavicles, breasts, hands, hips, asses, thighs, calves, knees, shins, ankles and feet. Not arms, though. They were uniformly bruised and sporting dull red blotches. Needle marks, duh. One had ankles like that, now that I think of it. Women who look devastating without a shower in 5 days. Women who look devastating up-close without make-up and a low-res camera. All shivering and puking and shitting and cursing and ranting and wandering and, of course, socializing.
1 comment:
i don't know if i could deal with being in the same room as all three of themu.
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