Science And The Topless Trend

Science smells bad.

At first i could attach a kind of chocolate taste to her, but the black flesh building up in her glass chamber reeks of our daily medication.
i complained about this a ******* week ago and we cleaned her out completely. Epsom salt and alcohol soaked into the resin for not even an hour and she turned white again; a headless, limbless angel of smoke.
that lasted like three days and her *** is now African. Her waist blends into an olive skinned Puerto Rican.

once you go black you never go back.

Science is still our favorite pipe.
maybe because her fat ghetto *** hits fat.
maybe because i think her nipples could live through a drop to the concrete but i'm too traumatized to find out. After all that's how my first piece broke. i shouldn't have named that one after my dead mother...

After we smoke in The Beater Paulu wants to drive to Mr.T's for a cigarette. i had seen a charming video recently about a girl nervously trying to keep her shirt off while her and the camera man sat in their car. i thought i could do better.
Actually it's surprising how many people don't seem to notice.

i thought this junker would be irresistible to your eyes.
every car has the perfect view through this tall glass and short dashboard.
i'm the color of flesh in oil pastel but

'Petite' to some people means 'small ****'.

as The Beater swerves in like a cop show crook, -as small cars do, since the turns are light and aerodynamic- there are three cars parked in the lot, one of which drives away as we pull in (no luck there) and the other two are empty.

normally the homeless hang around here because it's so ****** and normally the bums in this desert tweak. as i look to my right at the store corner i remember how it felt to be that high.

which day of the week would be best for getting groped?

sex and mud infest the canyons
in your fingerprint
the curiosity pushing slowly, tugged gently by a current of falling walls
just a flick up my skirt
the sense of future diminished to a single irresistible urge to mate.

i think i should put my shirt back on. i don't want to cause a scene; i don't want to look a dying soul in the eyes or feel obligated and bothered to respond.
the wrong people can never witness and pass. the fastness in their fingers is grotesquely desperate to touch and destroy.

but Paul returns in time and we leave.
we pass a pig i duck down for.
and it's back home.

i think i'll do this more often.
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1 Response Dec 1, 2012

I ******* love your "between paragraph" thoughts.. but I think my favorite is "which day of the week would be best for getting groped?" - Fantastic. I know it's a rhetorical, but I think Wednesday or Thursday.. I know this sounds or seems like a really cliche choice, but honestly, it's a cliche for a reason. A little "pick me up" never hurt anyone.