HAGS

A flock of bleach-blonde cackling hags drifted past me on the sidewalk, followed by a nebula of noxious perfumes and the pungent chemical stench of mothballs. Crow’s feet adorned their powdered faces, grew longer and more pronounced with the folded mess of loose flesh into which their gummy smiles forced their fugly mugs. Long and excessively bejeweled frippery dangled from their stretched earlobes and sparkled in the putrid hot sunshine. One of these expiring women held a leash attached to a yappy yorkie. With its short legs, the rat-dog pranced hurriedly and lightfootedly only slightly ahead of its obnoxious owner so that the leash hung like a lopsided parabola, which jiggled at a mixed rhythm between the short, quick steps of the dog, and the moderate walking pace of its ornamented crone.

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