He'd not had his hair cut in a year, and the rags he wore were dirty beyond belief. He did not care. All he cared about was to beg enough for a mug of...moonshine.Right now he was lurking in a narrow alley beside the Grand Opera House. He would hold out there for the rest of the afternoon and into the evening until the patrons would start to leave. Then he could offer services like helping the ladies climb into coaches without dirtying their dresses. He had even washed his hands and his face for. There in the tinted darkness of her underskirt I saw her shaven slit. A leg to each side, more together now as my intrusion forced her to stand quickly, but her dress riding upward, higher than it would if allowed to hang freely. In my sight, I could see above the V shape of her perfect body, was a tattoo, large enough to be prominent, but off to the side, as not to cause it to be a slutty frontal tramp stamp. I wasn’t sure what it meant to her, what significance it must hold, but there was a. More

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