Skin and Clay walk down to the corner, where there's a street light. Maybe something's happening there. Skin: Looks like it's just you and me. Clay: It doesn't matter. I can't see.
Skin and Clay goindu a morgue. Clay: I am the flowerpot he left behind, spun by the contours of his hands. Skin: I am his orphaned leather backpack, flesh colored, ink stained. Skin and Clay [together]: Are we museums or are we raw materials?
Clay and Skin weigh time against moral capacity. Skin: I'm the one who can go bad. Clay: It takes me 10,000 years to neutralize yor shit.
Skin and Clay go to church. Clay: He who's got a blessing's got a curse. Skin: An both those guys are better off than you.
Clay and Skin decide to commit a sin. Clay: What do we do first? Skin: Nothin. Clay: I am doomed.
Skin and Clay become filthy lovers. Skin: You are a little gritty. Clay: That's hot, Skin.
Brad Renfro Day *
20 hours ago
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