There I was sprawled out on the bathroom floor, sittin indian-style with my head against the door. The girl that was playing had the face of nobility. Sharp-as-glass features and frivolous hair. No one was home so I didn't bother to lock, or mute. She was doing her thing for the cash or the dope but I could never figure out which. The pipes pitched in, moaning up and down as the neighbors flushed and showered above and below. It only lasted 16 seconds, five seconds short of the record. The sun hadn't crossed past slanted infinity; it just hung half bent like some timeless entity.
/The Nobility/
One may think that we're all a bunch of stir-crazy romantics but sometimes it's only about the sex. There're some squawkers in the crew but their English is better than most. We paint ourselves up as picturesque parrots, dabbling up our pretty tricks. All that sweat talking - my favorite. Make believe is the same as you.
/ unnamed Joan Bones/
She's just a shout away if you need her. Some punk ass kids call her a twat. She doesn't know what that word means. She's pure. This kid is to be liked.
(Doesn't even have to be a character. I just like her name.)
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Author's Note:
- just some character planning
- pay it no mind
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