I just want to rub Sylvia’s scalp, touch her back. Does god have such deplorable plans for Epstein that he has taken this away? God is a nugget of boogars stuck on the underside of a desk in elementary school. f*****g beast.
I have to do something with Sylvia. She must see a doctor, I think. I’ve been saying this for some time. She comes to church for some reason and finds some solace in the music and chanting and speaking-in-tongues.
I knock on her door and open it. She slumbers nude in plastic wrap. Her breasts are plastered to her chest in such a ripe way.
I turn my head.
Outside, the sun has begun to set and the children roam around in their costumes of youth. I approach her and just stand over her. I want something different for her. Maybe she’ll marry a doctor. She’ll probably en
