Candy Camera

What’s this? Frank picks up a blank envelope. It’s large for a letter, and there’s something in it that turns the darkly bearded man curious. I dunno. Bob takes the envelope in his hands of a lightly bearded man. He examines it in the light. He rips it to untraceable pieces. Frank gasps and brings fingers to his eyes; rubs to make the sight go away. It doesn’t. Bob holds them better, higher, in so many angles that Frank gets lost in the maze of black and white. Photographs. Of them. In their fucking bed. God, they look delicious. Long minutes of going from photo to photo, repeatedly, enjoying the sight of their beards and buttocks and everything else; Bob freezing, then running to their room; Frank following and finding the window. They look up.

Two fucking floors above them there’s a camera. A flash. And behind that there’s a man.