The animalistic grunts die down, until they subside to a faint whimper. A few more smacks of wet skin on skin and the only sounds that remain is the swish of water and a trickle as it runs down the drain.

The hitchhiker climbs out of the small shower in the back with the water still running. The dark creature he has just ravaged remains crumpled against the tiled wall, facing it with her head resting on her arm. She breathes deep and slow. The long black hair sticks down her back, almost to her ass. On two large cheeks, dimples quiver as the water pounds them in a steady flow. Her left hand gathers water to wash out her crotch. She notices how sore it is: a slow burn of friction and stretching. The water, at once, soothes and stings her insides.

Slop, slop, the hitchhiker’s feet splatter the concrete floor until he reaches the abrasion of carpet in the dressing room. He finds among a row of hooks –from which also hang fluorescent colored braziers and a bright pink robe- a lush towel of the same eye-searing color and material. He grabs it and slings it over his shoulder. There are two people in the room but this doesn’t cause him pause in the least.

The first is a dazed looking man half-sleeping, half-staring as he lies back in a chair. His right sleeve is pulled up and a belt is fastened around his arm, towards the top of the bicep. An enormous vein –it looks like a snake that has somehow burrowed just below the skin- traces the faint muscle until it gets to mid-arm. There, a blackened rash spreads out like the negative image of a solar system. It is scabbed over and most likely infected, judging from the puss and rot reaching down his forearm. A metal box, syringe and charred spoon lay on the sink next to him. He breathes with a heavy gurgle bringing bubbles to his lips. The man’s eyes roll back slightly while his eyelids flutter. Those in the midst of ecstasy are often taken for the gravely ill. There is no reason they can’t be both.