written 2002-2004.

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by Vanna Vechian

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The room is dark. There is a desk. A desk-lamp projects a stark cone of light on its top. The centre of the cone shows a glossy full-colour periodical. The open pages show a naked person. A woman, of course, silky shiny and smooth. Sexy, in a cheap sort of way. Her legs are crossed. She has lifted the upper one high and coyly supports its knee, braced by both arms with hands folded. There is a man stooped over the magazine. His hairy body is naked and his taut posture radiates a nervous obsession. Slumped over the desk, he is supported by one arm. The other, the right, cannot been seen in its entirety; it disappears under the desktop.

The bitch, the fucking bitch...