Santan had just killed the third bastard pig – the most unbelieving of them all – he had no faith in Santan whatsoever.
Now he believed in two things, so to speak: in Santan, and in death.
Santan stepped out into the street and noticed a strain in his right arm.
Damn! He had probably overdone it with that webcam slut on the second Sunday of Advent, or maybe it was due to a lack of minerals in his muscles, since he hadn’t eaten or drunk anything for hours.
Now, at two o’clock in the morning, there wasn’t much happening in this part of town, so he strolled over to an open gas station.
“Help yourself, buddy,” said the cashier behind the counter, who was casually watching anal porn on his tablet.
Santan fancied a cup of tea and a cheesecake, so he picked a tea variety – green tea, Gunpowder – and a ready-made cheesecake from the factory.
“I’m sure you have a kettle?” Santan asked the cashier.
“Of course, there’s a small kitchen by the toilets at the end of the hall.”
Santan grabbed a jug of distilled water, a teapot, and a steel mug with the inscription ‘Every year, I fuck in the toilet!’
Then he marched toward the kitchen, carrying his utensils and food in one hand and the pan in the other.
Everything in the kitchen was filthy. Used and bloody sanitary towels were lying on the lid of the trash can, but the kettle was absolutely clean and looked like it had been descaled just a few hours ago.
“Do you want to fuck?” a woman’s voice asked from somewhere behind him, but he focused on preparing his tea. The amount of loose green tea had to perfectly harmonize with the capacity of the teapot. Distilled water mattered more to Santan than the tea itself, as only distilled water could allow the flavor to bloom in its purest form.
Then – having just started the kettle and bitten off a piece of cheesecake – he turned around and saw a woman pulling down her trousers and pushing her panties aside.
“What did you ask me?”
“Do you want to fuck? I know you, and my friend can’t get it up tonight.”
“Why is that?”
A little blood dripped down between her labia.
“I’m on my period… but that suits you.”
“Why?”
“It’s blood. My blood. Red, fresh, warm blood.”
“Okay, baby, what’s your name?”
“Just call me a horny little traveling whore.”
“Okay. You horny little traveling whore. I’ll do you as long as it takes for the water to boil.”
“Got it.”
She pulled his pants down, sucked his dick briefly, and then climbed on top of him.
He actually managed to come just as the kettle switched off.
“How did you manage to come so quickly?” the horny little traveling whore wanted to know. “I’ve heard completely different things about you.”
“I have perfected the fine art of denial.”
“You are so educated and wise! Let me be your student!”
“No, I can’t do that. I only work four days a year.”
“Then at least tell me what you’ve denied.”
“I’ve only denied my fourth job, in exactly one week, on the fourth Sunday of Advent.”