by Kirk Nesset
The longer you stay the more stupid you’ll feel, the more sick you’ll be in the morning. Then a woman was swaying beside me, claiming the opposite doorjamb—woman, I say, but girl is more like it. She looked barely twenty in her black lamé jumpsuit and white thigh-highs, breasts leaping out at the front.
God, she said, not looking over.
God, what? I asked, wanting to run.
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