Prague

[Trigger warnings: might make you uncomfortable about the skin you’re wearing, & violent imagery]

~

She leans back in her chair, and wipes some of the blood from the corners of her mouth, with a napkin I provided. “Naw, I looked it up – it ain’t my fault.” She does the accent horribly.

I sit down opposite her, ignoring the feet that are now staring at me. She wiggles her toes. “A man is dead, and you have most of his blood inside you.”

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