Tuesday, February 7, 2012

Victoria Williams: 0137

The funeral was beginning and they lowered their voices. He took her hand and kissed it, but suddenly his nose wrinkled and his grip tightened. He pressed her hand to his face like a handkerchief and inhaled sharply. ‘What’s that smell on your fingers?’ ‘Nothing,’ she tries to draw her hand away but he holds it tight. ‘It’s just jojoba oil.’ He throws her hand back to her: ‘You think I don’t know?’ He turns away. ‘It’s pussy.’