Her brain rung from the liquor and the beer and the weed. She yanked up the mattress, got on her hands and knees, and crawled along the floor around her bed. What she found, through the blur of her tears, were dusty clumps of lint and strangers’ hair, a half-melted tube of purple lipstick, and a scattering of mouse droppings. She shook out her Doc Martens again and again, knowing, even as she did this, that she was wasting her time. Had anything Ashley said been true? The rich girl stuff? The fashion merchandising? But then, no true street urchin would have teeth that nice. So maybe Ashley had just done it for the thrill. Or maybe this what she had meant by “fending for herself.” How could I be so stupid? Maggie gagged, tasting the bile in her throat. She ran to the bathroom and kneeled on its cold tiles. She puked violently, saliva swirling lazily in the toilet. She wiped her mouth and straightened up to go look at her swollen face in the mirror. Her eyes were bloodshot, crescented by pink bags, “like two piss holes in the snow,”
What do You think about The Carnival At Bray (2014)?
