To Sir, With Lust: Happy Birthday
Practically running to you, I drop my suitcase at our feet and let you scoop me up in your arms. It’s incredible, after all these years, what the smell of you still does to me. I nuzzle my face into your neck, basking in you.
That’s when she saw it. A wooden sign, sandwich board styles, unapologetically large and painted yellow. “FREE FORTUNES,” it read, in equally brash purple lettering. Smirking, she stopped in her tracks. Maybe this was exactly what she needed. Maybe this was a signal from the universe.
She sat upright and noted the rigidity of the wooden cadaver that pressed back up into her. Hunger puckered from her core, grasping at the length of a memory. Shifting her weight from one hip bone to the other, she rocked back and forth over her swelling bud.