She does a line of coke that snakes its way around a crushed spider on the coffee table. Legs in the air with a belly full of beer, I light the Polaroid and sniff the melting plastic as if it were a newborn baby. Taking the clipper in hand and shaving off the hair that covers my balls, I’m ashamed at having let it grow so long, and as she removes a stray pube from her mouth before neatly placing it on a coaster, I make my excuses and go sit in the bathroom to smoke some menthol cigarettes. Her body reduces me, and in awe of such beauty, my attempts at flattery fall far short of what she truly deserves. But hey, I’m just a man. No, I’m a boy with itchy fingers who’s trying to make up for lost time in the face of impending doom. I had one of those dreams again, only this time it wasn’t an asteroid. Somehow planet earth had been pushed out of the ‘Goldilocks Zone’, and as it strayed into outer space, the air in my lungs diminished quicker than an intake of breath after coitus. It was terrifying and yet strangely satisfying because every time I die in my dreams, it feels as if I’m getting closer to where I truly belong. And where I belong is in her arms. Smothered and battered and bruised. I’m hers to haunt- to do with as she pleases. Talking to the walls, I fall through the floor only to emerge minutes later with a can of insect repellent in hand. Lifting up her top and unlatching her bra as she mixes together the alcoholic drinks on the table into one pitcher, I spray her breasts and rub the fluid deep into her flesh. Massaging her glands, she frowns at my touch because she knows of my intentions, but I just laugh and point at the sticky insect trap that’s hanging from the ceiling. It’s for her own good, I say, and so I continue to fondle her while all the time maintaining eye contact. Even when she looks away, I place a finger beneath her chin and lift it back up, and as the night dissolves into perversion, those eyes will know only mine.