I took her by the hair as she stood primping herself in all her glorious vanity, hungry for a night out on the town. That would normally consist of dive bars and our own self-important ramblings, but her flushing cheek is now pressed against her reflection, which now wears more rouge than she does.

Somewhere, there are lines of yuppie scum, all clamoring to get into one of five shit bars located within a stone’s throw of one another. Any other night we’d be with them, but she is pressed against the sink. Once primped, now in disarray with the nape of her succulent neck grasped. Her eyes a reflect confused electrified terror.

This is a beautiful night. The pedestrians march in fraudulent procession all begging to be seen pretending having fun.

My right hand unzips her dress. My left only thinks to tear it off and leave the tattered ruins to sulk wherever they may lie. Car doors slam and high heels clop though the streets below. The obnoxious laughter of intoxicated yuppies echoes through the silent apartment.

Her pulse races in my palm. The breath from her gaping mouth seeps through the creases of my perspiring fingers and hides our reflection.

Bars and taverns have swallowed all the “people.” A heart’s throb and whore’s heavy panting fills the void of silence.

My teeth clinch into her shoulder’s flesh. The hand not inhibiting her wails forcefully places a finger on the button. She trembles.

Spinning. Shoving. Shivers. Melting through the floor.

I grant release. She is sullen, frozen against smeared rouge.

I leave her to contemplate her awe, but not before I inform her that she is taking too long to get ready, and that I don’t like missing karaoke.