His high was definitely fading, Pete realised glumly.
And still, under such regrettable circumstances this whore demanded carnal attention. Pete deftly tore open the packaging of a rubber and began a careful attempt to enwrap his semi-erect penis.
It was useless. Akin to trying to cling film a tape worm.
He chuckled exasperatedly.
The whore was watching him with fervent, glittering eyes.
So this was reality.
It didn't feel good, exactly. It lacked the light slow-motion mirth of a sitcom.
Reality was gloomy and desperate.
His high had faded. A sad swimming pool echo, a barely familiar semblance.
All things fade. Raymond Stanz understood this. He tried to ward off this knowledge by affecting the carefree jest of a flawed but likable sitcom character.
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