The Protest

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: June 11, 2018

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Submitted: June 11, 2018

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The bartender in the Hellraiser shirt approaches me. I ask her what she wants. She just stands there and stares. Stares. My eyes gradually move down from her eyes to her lips to her breasts. Stare. Stay. Focus. Her breasts are the perfect size. Meanwhile her lips begin to move. Words. I hear them but don’t understand. I observe the rhythm of her breathing. I try to memorize the shape of her breasts. I have forgotten what I was going to order. So I say nothing, and she says nothing, and outside the bar I hear the screaming of protestors interrupted by the cacophony of midday traffic, and I picture my mother standing on the sidewalk and shaking her head in disappointment, and I imagine myself as an observer with his hands tied behind his back. Suddenly the bartender puts my food before me. She says, “Here you go love”, and I feel proud to be the subject of her affection. She walks away and gives me a chance to stare at her ass. I look at my food. I should eat but have lost my appetite. I leave the bar and stand in the middle of the street. The police are shooting from behind the barricades. I am disgusted with myself and want to die. So I open my arms and embrace the bullets.


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