she collects dust. hand and knees, scraped knuckles, right from the floorboards. saliva drenched, from her neck to the base of her spine. she peddles it for pennies, she peddles it for comfort. in from the cold, like a knife, he traces a single finger down her face, down her neck, to the collarbone. she pauses, his finger slides back up to her chin, lifts it. it’s so heavy, sweat down his finger, trembling lip. you are so sincere, he tells her, she moves her head quick, snaps her jaws, takes hold of his finger to the first knuckle. he laughs, she shakes her head. just like a dog, he says and tugs gently: he doesn’t want her to let go, he doesn’t want her to go. he laughs and tugs, there’s much too much dust here.