gspd||GSPD

You feel the sticky, heavy murkiness filling the dingy room against your skin. Outside, the neighborhood sleeps, but here, among the crumpled sheets and empty glasses, time stands still. When David approaches, he smells of whiskey and the melancholy you both try to hide.

You flinch at the feel of his palm on your back.

“Come on, scratch my back,” he whispers hoarsely, squeezing his fingers, “to reach my heart.”

There's no tenderness in his voice, only anger and pain. You look into his eyes and remember "that other one" who stands between you. You want to break everything. You bite his shoulder, tasting blood, and quietly say:

• It's just terrible dirt... can't you feel it?

David grins and nuzzles your neck. Everything is drowned in the smell of sweat and tobacco.