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S&M by Rihanna

notes: an ounce of self-respect, skin contact, roses, cum, orchids, clean

The girl who’s just ugly enough to not inspire envy makes heads turn as she whips down the dungeon. She smells like the natural wine bar down the street, she smells like your favorite flower shop in Kreuzberg (permanently closed), she smells like baby powder– it reminds you of your grandma during her final days. Oh the kindness she evokes so effortlessly at such an unkind place! But it’s dark. But it’s red. Can you even see her face? Can you see that her pout gives away her lisp? Or that one eye is more hooded than the other? Or that her nostrils are not triangular enough? She chooses to believe that you forgot to wear your contacts that day. But you never forget. You appear. You materialize. You are born. Put on this earth just to hand her a red, heart-shaped paddle.


Poor Little Clown Girl

notes: airport air, big girl cigarettes, frankincense

When the girl who fails upwards returns to New York, she fails downwards into an experimental theater troupe. The second she’s in their clammy hands, they cast her as Pierrot.

Just this one time?

No. Every single time. Do you not know what a stock character is?

She fidgets with her Parliament. Thankfully, the phony WSP smoking has turned her into a real addict. Now she stinks of her country of birth.

During the first rehearsal, her troupe members burn her thighs with incense sticks. It’s not hazing, it’s just how they bond.



notes: svedka, sweat, mango juul pod, whatever’s in chanel no 5, mold

The girl who’s too scared to shoplift starts shoplifting. She doesn’t really have an option, there’s no money in theater. She steals groceries from Whole Foods and feels noble as she spends her measly income on shoes, purses and Korean skin care.

But the white paint she must wear night after night, show after show, makes her break out. There’s only so much snail mucin can do.

She plays the stupid shopgirl, in love with all the ladies who walk into the store to wink at her and then use their husbands credit cards to pay. She plays the cokehead disowned by his parents after his menopausal mother gives birth to the second coming of Christ. At night, as her troupe members do lines off each other's genitals in the living room of their shared squat, she cuddles her old high school sweater and breathes in. It hasn’t been washed since graduation.

After a drunken confession, her fellow actors hand her the most immaculate script.

She plays the Brooklyn ingénue, on her knees.

The final scene: her pimpled face, covered in cum.

Please dont leave meeeeeeeeeee!

The curtains close and the empty theater erupts into laughter.