After Vincent’s departure Nadrea tended to the routinely mundane but all too necessary task of locking the door and setting the alarm. She opened the piano bench and placed the felt key cover neatly in position closing the lid gently like she was tucking in a precious possession for the night. She sat on the end of the bench long ways still adorned in her whores clothing reclined her torso along it’s length, the cool hard wood supporting her torso along it’s length, arms limp to the side draping to the floor. Her hair and head dangling downward off the far end her hair fanned across the hardwood floor. Her legs limply askew for once there was nothing overly promiscuous about her lack of modesty, instead there was a child like innocence. Her thoughts betraying her posture and garments. “He thinks I’m beautiful” she repeated softly over and over again. Her breath easy, her body limp. Perhaps there was nothing more child like in the world than simply feeling pretty without all the other things and complications that comes with age.

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