Viewing the local antiquities

I'm thankful for the humanity so many whores have shown me, over the years.


I come down the stairs to the waiting room, carefully avoiding the low ceiling where I've banged my head more than once, hearing voices below:

There's a mound on the rug in the center of the room: zipped bags of see-through, glistening plastic, wrapping wadded up color: red, green, blue; solids and patterns; white lace:

The uniform supplier has dropped off the month's scanties.

The whores squat round the fresh load, chattering excitedly as they pick through them.


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All characters and situations fictional. Copyright (c) 2003-2007 by "John Psmyth."
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