The Harvesting by Ellery Bailey

        A family sized Dorito Bag with a magnum condom inside, discharge marred thongs, and a picked at caramel apple are fused to a landscape of loop-pile carpeting blighted by her own vomit from an evening defined by whiskey sipped out of a Tabasco sauce bottle. 

        Our tiptoes bite at remnants of re-heated microwaved meals and a scraggly toothbrush—the one she used after she swallowed him whole in his reclined passenger seat.