The Secret Life of Jenocide
Everywhere I take her she’s throwing up. Right now we’re at The Zero Lounge.
“It’s that Chinchilla Fever. It’s rushing everyone, I swear,” she says, her voice rough from the bile. “Just give me a sec…”
All the bathrooms are the same. Every stall smells of regurgitated yogurt, and the intimate wetness of retching reverberates off the ceramic tiling, swallowing you. Always there’s a standing-room-only crowd of masturbators watching with unblinking eyes, dry and hungry, staring and twitching.
“Just give me a sec Jen…”
“Do you even know what a Chinchilla is?” I feel this moist heat on my neck and quickly turn to shove a heavy-breathing lowlife away from me. Early-80’s Material Girl Chic is the thing now and my Like A Virgin Fishnet Fingerless Glove snags one of
