AcmeShorts

Moribundo decided to glamourize the affair by serving piña coladas. The dark curtains were proving insurmountable when it came to enjoying the evening. I examined the tip of my forefinger to see if it had become infected. Moribundo had inadvertently (?) pricked me hours earlier with his sharpened #2. I then advertently examined the tip of my foreskin -- privately, of course -- as I was inclined to do. A nervous tic, I suppose. Memories of sharp sounds ricocheted inside my head. Accordions mixed with yelps of small dogs. Women screaming in Greek. Somehow Bastardo's voice came cutting through the chaos. "Would you mind?" He turned his back to me abruptly. I was expected to zip up his dress from waist to neck. Monica's elegance couldn't be ignored, but I did my best to focus on the drink that was soothing my sore throat. "Don't be sore," she whispered coincidentally as she passed, her long hair brushing up against my cheek -- with a few strands falling into my exotic beverage. I experienced an odd cramp in my pelvis as I attempted to focus on the entertainment at hand. I find the observation of juggling bowling pins to be about the most hackneyed way to spend a Saturday night in this decrepit province, but I had no choice...