Flavia's Full Fat Granita

High hair white to peroxide screwed tight and knotted. Shrink wrapped booty vacuum packed into pencil skirt slit to the slide. Coffee strong black. Monochrome magic in a white ceramic. White walls. No music. Just gentle percussion of tarnished teaspoons on glass table tops. Sprayed but not wiped. Flick-knife swift stares switch from eyeball to eyeball, razor-sharp off back-lit granite. Waitress tears cellophane with her teeth like a fox rips at a chicken. What she wants? The jugular; always. Hardcore bronzer embossed on sandblasted cheekbones. Oh she goes baby and she knows it. Too small bra scoops them up like gelato. Scar tissue gently criss crosses olive skin. Some employer is getting all this for ten euros per hour. Bizarre because the ‘G’ on her watch? Got to be the real thing.

-Que hora es?
Lame. But it’s a start.

She makes egg sandwiches and thinks this is disgusting. People eat this. It makes the English look so white, pale and pasty. Like the pies no?

Antidepressant bottle stands above the sink next to saccharin and anti-bacterial hand wash. None of it works anyway. I want to destroy her. So easy to do. Youth, beauty, optimism. She has nothing. It all evaporates with time. I’ve been sipping cold coffee for too long. Toilet is a dung heap. She can’t clean in that skirt. What does that make me? Precocious because I got her on the granite floor for the price of a full fat granita? Please!

-Nothing I trust comes out of your mouth Flavia!
He’s a walking XXXL black fade to grey T shirt. Washed out logo, but no matter it never said anything worth reading. He wants her and he’s got her for all my peeking over the pay-as-you-go internet machines. She never saw me. She’s all that. Walking out with a mound of stinking moving hairy flesh. What is he?

Overpriced bill. Ceramic saucer with 2 rolling mint imperials. OK so I got a tasteless biscuit fragment in a tiny plastic bag and now you want me to pay for it. It’s still not adding up.
-La Quantidad?
He’s seen me look.
-You want her? Take her! Just kiss your platinum card goodbye. I can’t even buy a radio alarm clock that I need to get me up in the mornings to go to work. For Chrissakes Flavia!
-I NEED SHOES! Look at my feet they are BLEEDING!
-We don’t sleep together now because you fill our house with shoes you don’t even like to wear!
-Fat stinking pig!
And she’s pumping him, this big man mountain, with her size nine ballet pumps. It is truly a sight to behold becasue if the truth be told, she is actually punching him through next week.

God, that bill though. But with a floor show like that, they know damn well you’ll pay every last red cent. A five dime insurance policy that it ain’t never going to be you.