Vanity. Ares

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
temptation from the first conversation we had
had: black men thrusting. Most of the rest of her
answers were blurred in me listening to the
silence in my mind. But my attention came back
to the witness box when the Judge asked Anais if
she had seen me stab Myra. “Yes, I was there
when he kept thrusting Myra,” said Anais,
measuring all her words with concentration as if
she thought she were eloquent and intelligent. I
imagined that she had learnt the word thrust after
watching all those black Athletes at the London
Olympics the previous summer. She then
repeated twice the words: “Yes, he did in fact
thrust six times, I am afraid.” Frustrated, at that
point, in my mind I felt I was waiting for God, but
all I could see was Gordot, sat behind me on the
left that day, peering at the proceeding’s with his
eye contact fixed on Anais, whom was muttering
in what to me was really a complete ditz, by that
time: “I don’t know really I had a pizza in my
hand, it was blocking my view. I don’t pertain to
know how I to remember exactly where I stood,
but I saw it,” jabbered Anais after being asked by
the judge to explain where she was in the party;
her words were intermingled with big words I
knew she could not handle. Un-secure in the
knowledge of where I would lay my head after the
trial the words that formed and fell out of the
mouth of Anais diminished the remnants of
hopes that were blowing in the rainy wind, that
was persistent since I had come into this life.
After this Cesare was concentrating more of his
questions on why I in fact took three stabs at
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