It would be morning by the time the authorities would find him. Strung up between two streetlights, hoisted by his entrails, one leg dangling lower, seesawing sickeningly in the breeze.
After she'd disemboweled the man, she'd gone home and changed from her hunting clothes to her evening attire, took a taxi downtown, where the bars and clubs stay open long into the wee hours of the morning.
She picked one at random, busy on this evening with posh clientele milling about in gaudy conversation, imbibing luxurious intoxicants. She slinks inside, like a queen among rabble. Her heels clicking, singsong seductions.
Drew Martyn over 3 years ago
I love the phrase "milling about in gaudy conversation"