The halls were full of women and girls.
They were full of the dimples on the smalls of their backs and the soft arches of their cupid’s bows and the space between their thighs.
They were full of the sound of their laughter and their shoes and the smell of their rosy breath. The ones who were girls looked young and painted their cheeks with pink-reds and their lips with clear gloss. They teetered around like little children. They kept their legs clean shaven and those legs begged to be touched, they screamed for it. Some of them stood so deep-rooted in religion that they promised their legs away to god in private exchange for his ear when they spoke alone, but god was indifferent to them; he did not exist, you see – not in that world.
The others understood and gave their legs to men and boys who whispered in their ears, and they grew old – they grew into women, and that was the way.