Whilst Bogdan’s girls hurried to pick at the shrivelled up ones and tens carelessly thrown on the sticky floor, I could not help but to pick at the blisters left by the somehow stony pole I had been dangling on all night. The fetid smell of perspiration, rhum, and sex blurring my eyes as I continued to pick until my palms turned enflamed. With a five pound bill stuck to my garter, bloody hands, and the rest of my earnings up for grabs, I cannot help but think, what a joy it is to hurt from a pain I choose to foist on myself.
