(The Inferno has a natural grainy photo filter that blurs all pictures. It’s part of the curse.)
Welcome to the Inferno!
From the outside, working at an art gallery seemed chill, but this art gallery, The Inferno, was baleful. Walls oozed angst and ire, asphyxiating hope from ever reaching inside. Physically the gallery was an architects’ masterpiece, a piece of history melded with a contemporary vision. Decades ago it was a brewing factory at the brim with beer, but re-purposed to hold works of art. Now to the average guest that’s all it seems, but when one listens closely, a piercing scream will bring about an unrelenting trepidation that will linger until the grave.
Continue reading Tales from the Inferno
My boss told me he stares at my ass all day and it’s just a joke, lighten up. “Come on, I’m only kidding” he says. And it’s nothing, really. The comments and the stares. They are so small and meaningless; how dare I make mountains out of mole hills?
“Smile,” he commands. Because who would want to stare at a resting bitch face? I need to look pretty and what better way to make me smile than to order me to? No, he’s not threatening me. Because he smiles as he says it. He stops smiling when he tells me that men like their women “young and tight.” This is serious now. I need to remember biology. “Younger girls are just attracted to older men.”
Us women, we must love being told what to do. We must love being harassed at work. We fucking love it when you ask about our marriages and joke about them ending. We love it when you call us sweet cheeks. We fucking swoon over that shit. I am standing on my soapbox now- a mountain, if you will: tell me to smile one more time and I will cut your lips off to make it happen.