Chapter 4
"What kind of fuckin' s**t do you call this, huh?" snapped tall, slim and sultry Sylvia Pierce.
At that moment, Doris would have liked to have a camera so that she could have taken a picture of the head of female-personnel and her ostensible boss at the office, who was also her permanent room-mate: "Sylvia's pixyish but rather hard face was filled with utter loathing and disgust, the almond-shaped olives for eyes all but bulging out of the sockets of her cameo-shaped face.
This was her reaction on a conscious-level, Doris mused; she was thoroughly nauseated at the mess she had made by creaming -- all of the bedding -- besides splaying her bantam-golden thighs with it, too. But unconsciously, Doris felt certain that, if she could be made aware and conscious of it, Sylvia woul
