Waitress And The Ventriloquist

She had sun-streaked hair. I told her we could have a quickie after the show but she just looked blankly at Murphy, the doll. That night I jerked off with Murphy and cussed him for missing my chance with her. He looked on with the wooden smile, his wooden fingers clenched tight by his side. Murphy said cute things that day. People laughed at the stale jokes about slavery. I saw her reach out for the tip. And then she walked past me, with sad the ruffle of notes in her bodice. A little girl came up and hugged Murphy.From Guest Contributor Sreemanti Sengupta

Sreemanti writes fiction and poetry (Losing Friends - Alien Buddha Press 2.0) while occasionally dabbling in collage art. Some of her haikus have been translated to French and a poem read out at City Lights Bookstore, NY. She runs The Odd Magazine and Odd Books.