Fire For A Dry Mouth; Part one

                                                                            Lets start somewhere between 2006 and 2007 shall we?



    Don’t ask me what because I really couldn’t tell you, only what I saw in her. She was somewhat of a car wreck, in the sense that she was a complete walking calamity, but for some reason you couldn’t take your eyes off of her. Her petite body so thing you might think she was on heroine or something, which she probably was. Her hair was black ash and never seemed to leave its matted, disheveled state, laying there, shortly trimmed, almost like a boys hair on her, not unusually, but large head. Her eyes were so dark, almost black yet still mesmerizing. Her face, much like the rest of her body, was very pale and her lips were thin and cracked. Not quite short but not very tall, and she seemed to be wearing some kind of slip that looked as if it has just been pulled from under her bed and hung from her body like it was made for a woman twice her size. She was having trouble keeping both straps on her shoulders and depending how she sat in the seat, her slip was so short that you could almost make out what color, if any, panties she was wearing underneath it all. Beneath all this a pair of small breasts suited for a girl in junior high, first year of high school at the most, leading down to the longest legs I have ever seen. They were smooth but covered in scars from where she had vented her frustrations with a kitchen knife. Her hands were probably my favorite part of her, small and delicate to the touch, soft and smooth. I knew they had been through a lot of strenuous needle pushing though. She was everything I have ever hated in a small chest and great legs. I met her on the subway.