domingo, marzo 28, 2010

340. No aid

Publicado por Alba |

Her husband died from the virus, too. Fishermen don't usually bother with rubbers, and prostitutes can't really afford them, I guess. Ten dollars a night don't buy you much.

She had three kids, and when the last to be born died, they figured out she also had it. Now she's thin as one can be before turning into a flesh-clean skeleton, and her kids will be alone in the world.

She breathes in. To live is to hurt, she tells her oldest. And she breathes out, for the last time.

And whitey had his fish and chips that night.

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