You go in and they’re lying there just waiting to be picked up. Sluts. One on top of another, overlapping. Lapping. Jesus. They’ve been used, and now they’re showing their best faces like cut price harlots. Thumbed. Scuffed. Bent open, wide open. Some of them fall that way; splayed. If you looked closely you might see smudges where the other hands have been on them, other fingers flicked through them, other fingertips moistened perhaps by a quick tongueful of spit.
Give in to it. Grab as many as you can. Stuff them under your coat, gather them in your arms.