Chapter Twenty-Nine
Ginger
“Chipping away at the granite of life is apparently what gets Hilda up in the morning.”—Voted In One
Vegas woke up to a scratchy, rough sheet rubbing against her skin and the smell of ginger. She coughed; she hadn’t smelt ginger since her compound days, and even then it made her gag. It was used for many purposes but never for cooking, more a rubbing into areas for colds and chills, along with other burning spices and a rough-handed massage.
Smart girls in the compound soon learned never to complain about aches and sniffs.
A delicate-looking bird appeared at her window and let out a robotic chirp. Vegas watched it dance about the sill.
She had slept or rather dozed with one eye open, like the nights she slept under the great phallic chandelier in the room w
