Chad Sullivan

Carnie slumped against a dumpster in the alley behind her gallery, snoring softly in a greasy, sweat-soaked McQueen corset. Her Valentino slacks lay heaped beside the grubby soles of her bare feet, and a thick mat of coarse black hair fanned along her inner thighs from beneath the worn-out elastic of her urine-soaked underwear. Flies swarmed above the dumpster and fed on the carcasses within: exotic pets, mostly—Asheras and Löwchens and Ball Pythons.