Dirt In The Bricks

They call him a nobody cause all he ever does is clean. Uses shaggy cloths to wipe blood and teeth from the top of the bar, mops to soak up and push around fluids in both sexes toilets, wet paper towels to drag out the ash and saliva from the machine trays, and alcoholic swabs on everything else.

Exhaling nicotinous fumes he finds her propped up against a tire behind the club carpark. A shrinking mess of skin and fabric. A torn black garbage bag dragged over and across like a funeral sheet. Kneeling next – she’s dead – to her. Bends knees and pushes his eyes close. Bile rises, then a faint breath passing from her purple wasp stung lips carves out the whispers of I want to go home, I want to go home…

How did you get here?

I was somewhere. In a place. The lights became too much. Then the seat spin…

Wh-who did this to you?

They will be forgiven. Their trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against…

Then everything slowly closes. Into blackness. Her eyes, the night, her mouth, the gutters. He fishes out a torn tissue and wipes the running tears from the dark bags piled under his worn red eyes. He cannot bring himself to finish her prayer.

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