You’re ol familiar
by Larla Wirtz
This is not a place for children. This place; for liars and thieves. Portrait painters and Arabian prostitutes. Boys who sing their lover sonnets and whisper forgettable passions. Herion cascades down the backs of elderly women with magnums wrapped in dusty brown packaging. Only the freaks are normal. Familiar tongues lick the dew off twenty-somethings breasts. Time fades and the story repeats itself in the morning.