greasy eggs

there was a man at the car rental place who looked like he had been forced out of his messy bed which was probably laden with a 20 something Italian whore wearing far too much make up, perfume, and week old underwear. I can see her as he left begging him to fuck her once more, like a good dirty italian girl. Even through his hair that was teeming with a lifetimes work of olive oil, rental car exhaust  and enough really trashy cologne to kill a small child he was nice enough. He forced buisness laughter at my aging fathers jokes and looked at me several times. He looked at my lush overgrown chest-while licking his lips strained red from last nights debauchery- through his nervous cackle-not like he wanted to or would rape me but more like he was going to eat me. Like my breasts were made of fine whipped cream, the kind you can eat without hope agenda or hesitation for breakfast lunch and dinner.

I think I looked like a diner to him, a little disheveled, pudgy around the edges but just welcoming enough- knowing that inside is goodness, greasy home cooked frozen food, pre packaged and fried up with enough anger and heat- and, if your really lucky, a suprisingly long and entertaining stay.  My womb was serving breakfast, dead wasted runny dirty, swimming in butter, kinda burnt, just american enough eggs that otherwise would have been gone bad. He could have had his regular breakfast from his whore in italy but lets face it here she is 6 to 1.