His father had worked there. Now, it just stood there as a monument to Artie's failure in escaping the crash of the not quite town of his birth.He picked up a stone and looked for a window to throw it through. There were none. Only a few scraps of plywood here and there, some open space, and spider webs. With a loud grunt, he threw the stone against a concrete silo, twice as tall as the two store shops that sat across from it. It made a small noise as it struck the side. Artie strained to hear even that result of his violence.Artie leaned against a telephone pole and gentle knocked the back of his head against it. Lips pulled back, his upper teeth ground against his lower. He closed his eyes tight and sucked his breath through his clenched jaws. It escaped as a sigh like a snake's hiss. His hands made and unmade fists with his nails biting into his palms.His eyes opened at a sound and he looked up. The faint sound of footsteps echoed in the night breeze. He peered around till he saw. We are having a pleasant conversation with lots of bantering. You’re confused and don’t know what to make of me. On the one hand I seem rather flirty but my sarcastic comments seem to be in stark contrast to that fact. You can’t outwit me and I always seem to end up having the last word. You start to flirt with me but don’t get anywhere. Your ego needs a boost and you start telling me this story about yourself to try and impress me. You watch me eat my gnocchi, the white, soft, pasty white balls, dripping with cream sauce disappear into the scarlet red lips. The image of my naked white skin lying on your black silk sheets pops into your head. The white skin, the little shadowed area between my legs, the curve of my lower back, my little breasts, nipples you want to see hard. A little drop of the sauce stays on the lips. I lick it off and you go hard. I make yet another sarcastic comment about the story, keep eating the delicious food and slowly slide my naked foot up your leg until.
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