Monday, February 1, 2010

Bathhouse Diaries

When he left the table he heard it. A low-muttered word, an under-breath word. Slut. Or was it something else? Some other word, to judge by its tone, not of endearment, but one that was also best ignored. For there was the problem of survival, and the evening stretched out before him, a dark comfortless road he had chosen to pursue.

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