Catoptric

[nibbed]

Hi shemthepenman,

Okay, this is a deep metaphoric freak-out! Especially to a fattened girl. I read it several several times. I like your use of fonts, it gives it a strange tuxedo feel to it. Don't know why I see a tuxedo, weird, how that works. Maybe it's more black and white, no tux. Maybe the word waiter, maybe my mind clicks over to French waiters wearing tuxedos. The only thing that stalled my flow of thought were the words pinhole stare. I don't know why it just didn't seem to fit, but then probably because it popped up another weird place in my mind.

-nibbed



Catoptric

Twilight ambles in and bears a window across its semi-naked body. Pierre’s faceless monotone mood escapes through the gaps in the bathroom door, and Mary feels the sickening thump of yesterday’s absinthe beating her head to a pulp.
—Monsieur, please wake up. Monsieur, the doors are being locked and you must leave, right away. You cannot stay here, anymore. The doors are being locked. 
Stretched out on his back, on the floor, Pierre summons a god-awful moan from the pit of his stomach, and pries his eye wide open with his thumb and forefinger; cutting through the waiter with a blank pinhole stare. 
—We’re forever on the floor, my lords, ladies, and gentleman’s toilet. Vomit flows into piss through the valleys of the joins. And we’re always on the floor, my table of a waiter of a lover-man, mine.