Miranda

Miranda

Black corset.

Red lips.

She could have her pick.

Maybe she hasn’t scraped the bottom of the barrel, though I don’t think I’m at the very bottom.

I mean, I see the bottom, but I’m not there. Yet.

At least, I think this is the bottom. And a barrel.

But maybe I should get it together.

She sees me.

I am seen.

Either way, I’m a fool.

I may as well enjoy myself.

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