Flash Fiction: Iguana Man

I write stuff. Sometimes it’s too weird to live anywhere but here. Here is one.

Every customer at Platinum made promises:

“I’ll show you the world.”

“I’ll treat you right.”

Lena of the long legs, lavender scent and vertiginous pole tricks had heard them all. So when the man with the silver suit and staring iguana eyes said, “I’ll change your life,” she just said, “I bet you would, baby,” and brushed his hand, taking her twenty a dance.

It was only after closing, in the darkened lot, when a blur of disgruntled drunk and wild defensive swing left her staggering over exploded fragments of skull and acrylic shoe, that Lena suspected he’d been sincere.


Draws. Sweats. Eats too much sugar-free candy.

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