Chapter 4
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Frankie had wiped back to front today and could feel the chocolat mistake becoming her. Addled by the acute onset of dysentery Frankie wandered the streets of Florence, searching for a clean bathroom, holding her painting tightly under one arm and smoking an American Lucky Strike Menthol with the other.238Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWJXvwDLskZ
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After an hour of wandering, Frankie happens upon a bathroom. Battered door, unisex, filthy. Stinking of musk and heroin, toilet paper long gone. In stubborn refusal to accept the situation of being unable to wipe, Frankie tore a section of her dress off and ran it under hot water in the sink, it wasn’t toilet paper, but it would do. The dress material was coarse and had a texture reminiscent of sandpaper, nonetheless Frankie endured and scraped the morning's fragmented excrement from her urchin of the sea. I deep ache engulfed her vulva but she remained resolute, throwing the piece of the dress on the floor and leaving the bathroom, but not before briefly indulging the prospect of the possibility that the portion of the dress’s scent might be picked up by a vagrant and used for masturbation purposes. She giggled playfully to herself, feeling slightly aroused by the potential barefoot male suitors future possible putrid pleasure. Upon leaving she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, and threw her fist into it at full force, shattering it and lacerating her hand in many places. She couldn’t stand the sight of what she had become.
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