Snippet

Today was Thursday. The day when the girls came in at five and left past two, removing thick dollar bills from their bosoms, and Sawyer wondered about the room in there, between sticky skin and gold sequined minis. He only got the girls on the early morning shift: the fat one with caked red lipstick who brought him Coca Colas or the sleepy eyed blonde who Sawyer imagined unfurled in routine with the sun. He tipped them with parts of his winnings and chips, thinking about dawn that he could not watch rise from the floor.

Sawyer was in love with the sleepy eyed blonde, whose name was Serafima Ivanov. Serafima Ivanov’s favorite sweets were licorice vines spun into wheels; she fancied Shostakovitch and Woody Allen. Her candied black discs sat on a small shelf between the martini glasses and toothpicks. During the slow shifts when Sawyer dragged at his Coca Cola and cranked at the machines with calculated indifference, Serafima placed a wheel between her lips and sucked. From behind the blinking crests of the slots, Sawyer followed the movements of the little pink tongue inside Serafima’s mouth.

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(From a short story, inspiration is obvious. I think this div three is turning into a collection of oddities... words, images, fiction, non fiction... I am content with this.)