Stalking The Smut Slut
She gives me a kind smile and sets my thick file down in front of her as she begins to explain the conditions of my parole.
Back on the T, I follow my PO’s directions written down on a Post-it note. She’s sending me to a dank bookstore in a small town about twenty minutes from Brockton in search of a specific book about the twelve-step program that I’ll need for my mandatory weekly meetings. I’ve gone through all of this shit before, and it never seemed to stick. There’s no use thinking this time will be any fucking different.
I spot the flickering “OPEN” sign hanging above the door to the bookstore, swaying in the heavy wind that whips the cold rain against my body, making me break out with