In the growing dim, she carefully slipped into the couch cushion and pulled an engraved flask that spelled “Badass”. It had passed through a garage sale for a buck a summer ago. Only a small light above the stove provided contrast for her thoughts.
“Those creditors can kiss my ass. Why should I compromise my basic needs for them?”
She did not indulge the contents for her lips to sip the sizzle. Having it was enough; she loved its soft leather sheath.
“Fuck it. I am me and that is who I am. Hold me, please.”
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