I'll paint you a black painting, very red
rough boy, innards sounding like doorbells buried by lifts for little. A dark surface, ants in locks.
Taste the snowy fabric of your fifth glass.
Well....?
Tastes like rotten wood and loneliness. Fly Air India if you ever leave the states. The drinks are free.
Nina's phone is busy, symbols forgiving the light, beehive drone & detached ring tones.
I like the little bead of sweat sliding out from underneath that collar. Is it a dog collar?
Nina squints. Her eyes are silver. The pupils, dark buckets. Sort of scary.
Street thorax.
Huh?
Get any interesting messages?
Nah. Just the regular short curves. The usual spy ware infections.
I love watching the clouds slide off the pewter sky. ..
Emmm. Ever try that white Merlot?
Bet it tastes like white Zinfandel.
Yup.
*
The black beaded tattoo on her right wrist glitters, as the dome around the cabin, softly closes.
OK with you if we watch Pink - Don't leave Me?
Sure.
~*~
