Bad Days for the Paize
With the sounds of the city screaming, Everett wiped a sweaty brow. The wife would be dealing damage for this. And each of the kids would have something to say about it. They all knew, of course. Everyone under God's blue fucking sky knew.
Another bottle fell to the burnished rooftop floor. Everett peeled off pants and ripped open shirt, stumbled around bumping into twenty thousand azzo chairs like they're from a yard sale, hastily hurried for the next slurp of booze.
Why? Why had God taken Marcella? She knew how important she was. She knew Everett lived only for her breath and sweet touches.
The bottle cracked and bled out, scorching Everett's throat with blissful fire, numbing and dumbing the wise ape to pickled perfection.
A few more stumbles and a fall put bleary eyes down next to the hot tub, where they had on many an occasion fucked the night away.
Tears spilled over, followed by a march of sobs, a litany of whispered whys, a procession of wails.
Then Ev saw toes. Those magnificent toes on which to suck for hours.
Ev brushed hair and batted tears away, scrambled for the toes, longing so to taste them, know they're real. The salty familiar, the smooth comfort of skin and excite of hard nail polished to perfection. Lips locked in an oh and sucking, tongue finding.
"Oh, God!" Ev cried out between sucks. "Oh, God, yes! You've come back to me."
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