Wet Brick Establishments

I heard, in Prague, if dollars aren’t a problem, there are hookers you can torture with the gentleman that bought them. I heard something in the shriek of a woman close to death can get you higher than cocaine and put a piston in your chest but I’m not sure because the door is always hidden in some store that I have no business being in or even asking for but I bet if you walk the streets when it is cold and crisp and late and press your ear against the window, hold your breath, quietly wait –

OH!

– maybe you will hear the delicate kiss of a blade as it carves through the white skin of a girl about your age. I heard once you find these places it gets written on your face. It’s in the words you stumble over and the constant little shakes of fingers flicking cigarettes and thinking of Prague in winter time and the last scene of a movie that was some nameless girl’s life. I like to think I’ll get the money and then plan a secret trip some January in a few years acting on a secret tip I got from my guy that’s downtown who said not to pass this around but if you’re looking, let me tell you exactly where it’s found. And I will rescue her like Liza from the European streets and riding off, she’ll fall asleep listening to the slow beats of tired hearts that were united in a dark that is now lightened by the possibility of hope and love and happy silence.

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~ by perfectionatrix on December 7, 2009.

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