I cringed at the sight of it. The devastation it inflicted on me the night before was still fresh in my mind. It was stained with my dry blood. Stacy ...roceeded into the kitchen, humming as she went. She turned on the water in the sink and I heard the rubber dick thump as she tossed it into the sink to wash it. A moment later she carried the now clean torture device into the bedroom and came back into the living room empty handed. She stood looking at us for a moment and then tugged at the belt. A memory portrait could suffice. But I could go either way with that. I wasn’t a fanatic about my art; it was comfort rather than an obsession for me.I stood down from the stool in the center of the bare wooden stage to the sound of applause scattered around the room that was all the more satisfying because many present were too stoned to know they even were there, let alone that a poetry reading had ended. And those who were fully conscious were dulled by the clouds of marijuana smoke swirling. More

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