The minute I saw her, I picked her up with one hand by her hair and with my other hand, I grabbed her under her skirt by her vagina— her pussy?— and lifted her up off the floor, literally, and carried her like something I owned, like a piece of trash, out of the club. My fingers were practically inside of her, my other hand wrapped tightly around her hair. She screamed and kicked and cried. I carried her this way, suspended by my hands, all the way across the room, pushing past people until I got to the front door. Her friends ran after me, trying to stop me. We got to the front door. In the scuffle I grabbed at her clothes, trying to hold onto her, screaming at her, and inadvertently ripped off her necklace. She said the rest of this night was a blur. She said she did not remember. She did not remember how she got out to the car. How she got away from me that night. She never returned for her necklace either.

-Bob Guzzetta


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