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Pinata

Two a.m. on the dance floor and he wanted to go. It was too loud, the lights and noises. But she kept recognizing famous faces, none he’d ever seen, but he took her word for it.

Three a.m. just when he was ready to make a stand, she pulled his mouth to hers. Her perfume scented sweat tickled his hormones, disarming him of any muscles needed to pull away. Her tongue pressed into his mouth, feeding him three more pills. Stay.

Four a.m. he couldn’t spell stearing wheil, but he had both hands wrapped around one. She flew her hand out the window and with the other, ran the radio’s dial up and down the line. And he had to agree, the music sounded better that way because it didn’t make any sense.

Five a.m. she decided she loved Vegas too much to leave and insisted on a hotel. She required them both to check-in a few more pills to make an honest decision.

After three days without sleep, they both slept. He dreamed of her hanging from a beam, him whacking at her like a pinata till a rainbow of pills burst forth.

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