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she craves their burgers the way a clown craves the terror of children.
My soul’s got bills to pay; I know that. And if there is an afterlife, I expect I’ll be servicing that debt till the Devil’s asshole is raw from all the rimjobs I will have to give him.
“It’s Florida,” Gabby says. “I know, but it’s winter.” “I know, but it’s Florida.” “I fucking hate Florida.” “Then you should stop coming back here.”
Beagle shudders hard, moaning as a bead of red swells up from where the scalpel poked the end of his cock. She drags it down, down, down, occasionally stopping to do the same—little pin-pokes, little stitches, balloons of blood blowing up and going from beads to strings as they run down his manhood, down his sack, to the exposed tract of taint, to his puckered shithole.
“I’m from a part of Ohio which is basically Kentucky, and being conservative is, I think, a part of our actual genetic makeup,
diaphanous
“But you have a plan?” “I think I have a plan.” “Is it a motherfucking plan?” “I don’t . . . I don’t know what that means.”
she moves over to a side table next to a leather couch that has lost most of its shape and turned more into a moldering pile of forgotten cow—there,
twee
jumping straight up like a rabbit that just got bit in the ass by a rat.
Succinct,