[ boy, where'd you learn to kick like that? her heels squeal on the floor as she staggers back—into the abused pool table. she catches herself on the lip and holds herself up like that, one arm hooked over, the rest of her hanging, ragged, her hair falling free from its ribbon, her lips ever-curved. she braces herself with the electrified kanabo.
no subject
wheezing. ]
She ever tell you you look good like this?