...a deathly serenade...

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AA
they were people that were known in inner
circles. Perhaps religion had a profound effect on
the outward appearance of society, here, but the
same primal instincts remained intrinsic, I
acknowledged to myself. If I can remember, she
was standing there before he arrived, or maybe
they came at the same time. B introduced her as
Leila then said: ...Don’t worry about her she’s
just decoration.
—Really... And that was my reply because I did
not know what to really say. Leila looked no more
than fifteen. Though her eyes had a dormant
appearance that looked the consequence of either
drugs or life. Either way you’ll get gotten won’t
you. It being the end of January meant that she
was dragging along a long cream sheepskin jacket
like a nuisance, with it unzipped you could see a
large pair of breasts underneath a tight navy blue
cotton blouse. As if I were elsewhere the thought
occurred that I had just typed in ‘Teen big
breasts’ and was then confronted with what I had
lustfully imagined, followed by their uncovering,
usually with some sort of gyrating, and then an
organ would be summoned for the use in a
variety of positions— Modern life. She said
nothing. Mohammed only had half of what I had
asked for. As if insurance, he had known where I
had lived from Lucia. I guessed. He said he would
meet me there in three hours or so. I then begun
walking through the market on my way back,
through Medina, full of antiquated houses with
colourful paint jobs as if vintage clothing; each
distinctive in its own way, stools full of fruit, and
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