From WALT: A NOVEL

Walt stared at Lillian with confused, angered eyes. His adam’s apple swelled with nervousness and masculine bafflement. His untouched cigarette burned, a single finger wrapped around it.

“What do you mean you won’t be an ink and paint girl anymore?” he said.

“I just don’t think it’s necessary anymore,” said Lllian. “We’re getting by on your salary. I don’t think I need to do it anymore.”

Walt adjusted his ten-dollar pants and rolled his cuffs. “We don’t need it anymore. You don’t need to do it anymore.”

“That’s right, I think we–”

“You don’t need to be an ink and paint girl anymore.”

“That’s right–”

“You don’t need to contribute anymore.”

“Walt.”

“Pretty little Lillian doesn’t have to be an ink and paint girl anymore. She is fine. She is her own man now. She is her own little whore now!”

“Walt!”

“Why bother with tricks with the hand when your pussy does nice, wet tricks for all the kiddies, right, Lillian?”

“God damn it, Walt!”

“Why dip your pen in ink when a young dripping stallion can dip his pen in your liquid gold, huh, Lily?”

“Walt…”

“You have the liquid gold, don’t you, Lily? You have the pussy gold, right? The gold that’s in your pussy? You’re my little Leprechaun, aren’t you, Lillian, you fucking cunt whore! You’re a peppermint patty fuck blanket, aren’t you? One of those wind-up pussies, aren’t you? Pur pur pur! Pur pur pur! Wind up pussy pretty pretty tit maiden doesn’t need to be an ink and paint girl anymore!”

Tears streamed down Lillian’s face as she clutched the hankerchief Ub had given her. When would this pain stop?