The Nightlife: Las Vegas

She began to realize some decisions cannot be undone no matter how hard you try.

Ana was a perpetual victim in a never-ending search for a victimizer.

She exuded sexuality almost tangible, like ink obscuring the waters around the octopus before it strikes.

They were two people staring at each other knowingly, communicating psychically amidst an ocean of deaf, dumb and blind meatsacks.

Ana never saw the rotten apples littering the ground as she continually reached for the rare golden apple on the tree. Ana had stepped in a lot of rotten apples in her lifetime. She should have learned by now.

A strikingly beautiful shit-storm of trouble––Ana attracted trouble like no one else.

He knew that if Michelle entered into the walls of the Vatican, she’d corrupt every single clergyman within, causing them to forsake their vows in trade for a few moments with her. With one glance men would happily follow her to the bowels of hell and swim across the lake of fire to get to her.