“No,” he says, and then his grin melted away. He leaned forward. “I mean it. Really. You will never find a girl that does it better. Never ever. Rest of your life. Ancient technique. You sure you can live with that, sir?”
Dread put its cold hands around my heart and squeezed.
“That’s Mom. She gets LOUD when she’s hungry.” Then she just continued drawing, utterly unfazed.
“I’m not crazy!” I hollered to no one at all, still sawing through my last pipe. Squeaking, grinding. Grinding, squeaking. The sewer drain sloshing.
Writing this down didn’t help at all. I thought it would give me some kind of perspective. Purge me of what terror I now harbor in the depths of my soul. Allay the guilt.