by Loie Rawding
One night not long into our courtship, I got thirsty for a little kissy face and ice cut straight off the block. Mix that with some sweet bubbles and easy fumes coming off the crowd and I knew I could be satisfied for the evening. M was tired of being dragged around, and then left waiting in front of a broom closet. Who could blame him? I tell him someone has to pay the bills. I’ve sold off all the war medals. Compensated myself by pressing them into my skin and once the imprint faded, I just took them off to pawn. We have to eat more than the bedpost, I say and give him a little slap across the cheek. He does not argue.