It first seems all about Philip Morris, the sponsor: the gentle, natural taste of fine tobacco that Mike lights every ten minutes, blowing smoke at the woman for whom there are No Gods and No Masters. How had she heard What Every Girl Should Know? Didn’t the church spread the word what was what with their bodies? She says no it was not crucifix and nuns. All women tangled in the hitch of man’s law! Her facial muscles twitch, something she must scratch or poke, hands roaming, then growing still, while Mike lights up. Was it her atheist father, mother early gone, the TB she caught caring for her, ten siblings, two marriages, diaphanous diaphragm easy as a douche? “Brain cells...never sensual”? Those Philip Morrises in Mike’s box like little white penises.
John Allman | Renting a Life Contents | Mudlark No. 48 (2012)