You and I fell deeply in love with the same foreign woman. She was a construction worker, and we first saw her standing near an orange traffic cone. At that moment, both of us began having impure thoughts. These bad mental urges are the fault of our respective parents: they did a rotten job of raising us.
So now you and I wander through the night. We have both become courtesans. We show off our thick-heeled footwear to any passerby who will look. (Black boots are a timeless staple in every girl’s wardrobe.) We sell our bodies for X dollars an hour, and we use obscene language frequently. This, again, is due to the influence of our parents — both of our fathers had foul mouths; they taught us impolite words. Also our mothers were extremely evil beings.
Oftentimes I wish that you and I had been raised by nuns. Then I believe that we would be better people.
However, as our luck would have it, the nuns who adopt us would probably be the devious kind, who would open up their uniform and force us to nurse.
I already told you, in a previous report, about the mechanical body part that I own, which has an oil pedal and is controlled by a cordless remote. Since this body part is detachable, I often leave it in various places around the nunnery: on a table; in a chair; on the kitchen counter; in the sink; in the closet. Once I left it on my psychoanalyst’s couch. Sometimes I store the body part within a tub filled with balloons, and I position summer squash around it, just to add color. The only place that I never leave it is under a cushion, because I’m afraid that someone might accidentally sit on it.
So, anyway, you and I get back to our night-walking. We accept any job that is offered; we’re not scared. We do a job at the beach, in the sand. Then we perform a job in the middle of the street. And one last job, right in the church’s baptismal.
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