Seven

She pulls out her pinky, blood stained, the smell of death creeping into her lungs. She’s worried. She’s still bleeding but her pad is good as new. She sighs and sits on the bowl. Urine flows out and a sting makes her quench. Pain. It hurts to pee. There’s something wrong with her and she thinks of going to a doctor. She steps out of the co-ed rest room and the thought escapes her. Money, it’s always the problem.

“Sally! Clean up table four.”

She hurriedly puts on her apron and disappears into the smoke filled bar.

-lumpofmud

December 3, 2009, 11:07 AM

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