She feels lucky. But then she always does. Every Friday and Saturday night and she scrubs up real nice and her hair all lifted and kick and a dress that sparkles. It is something easy for her to feel lucky. Shit, I’d feel lucky looking like that. And she’s soft with it, you know, and all her words kissing-words. And she’s always laughing and her face lit up like she don’t need no other light ‘cept her own. Fuck, now I’m getting all poetic and ahead of myself.
Her name’s Karen. That’s what it is Monday to Friday working at the chicken farm. They call it a farm but all we is doing is killing chickens and cutting them into pieces and feeding them into machines. And there’s a guy there called Frank and he’s always touching Karen and leaning close to tell her stuff. You have to lean close on account of the noise from the machines, but he never does that with me or with Emmy, and he never puts his hand in the small of our backs the way he does with Karen.
Come Friday nights and she’s called Kaz then, and we take it in turns in the shower at her place. Or if we’s running late then maybe we’ll get in the shower together and that is something and that’s when I feel lucky. We scrub so hard that our skin is pink, and still sometimes there’s a chicken shit smell on us. But not so much on Karen. She uses soap smelling of roses and she washes her hair in rosemary and lime and she dabs scent between her toes and her fingers and in every small crease of her skin.
And she says she feels lucky. And I think she’s got it the wrong way round, cos I reckon there’s some Friday-night-guy out there and he’s gonna be the lucky one. Kaz has curves in all the right places and her puppies sit up neat and begging. I touched them once and we kissed. But that was just messing and it was the drink that we’d had and Kaz laughed and she said I’d turn her lezzer if I wasn’t careful.
There’s guys at the crap tables and they think she’s lucky and they let Kaz throw the dice for them and sometimes she makes them some money and all her drinks is free for the night. Later, she takes the guy up to his hotel room and fucks his champagne soaked brains out. That’s how she tells it afterwards, and as he sleeps she takes all the money from his wallet and a few of the uncashed chips and she makes good her escape and that’s where she thinks she’s lucky.
But some nights she throws numbers that lose and lose big; mostly those guys just shrug and they sit to the bar and they drink till they can hardly stand and she takes them up to their hotel room and fucks them for free.
She tells us about it on Monday mornings, all the men she’s fucked, and she has to shout on account of the machines. And Frank pretends not to hear and you can see his cock hard through his trousers. He disappears to the men’s room for twenty minutes and we all know what he’s about then. We joke about it some, but in truth we is a little excited too, listening to Karen, and I am sometimes a bit wet there in my pants.
Patricia Ann McNair 
She feels lucky. But then she always does. Every Friday and Saturday night and she scrubs up real nice and her hair all lifted and kick and a dress that sparkles. It is something easy for her to feel lucky. Shit, I’d feel lucky looking like that. And she’s soft with it, you know, and all her words kissing-words. And she’s always laughing and her face lit up like she don’t need no other light ‘cept her own. Fuck, now I’m getting all poetic and ahead of myself.
Her name’s Karen. That’s what it is Monday to Friday working at the chicken farm. They call it a farm but all we is doing is killing chickens and cutting them into pieces and feeding them into machines. And there’s a guy there called Frank and he’s always touching Karen and leaning close to tell her stuff. You have to lean close on account of the noise from the machines, but he never does that with me or with Emmy, and he never puts his hand in the small of our backs the way he does with Karen.
Come Friday nights and she’s called Kaz then, and we take it in turns in the shower at her place. Or if we’s running late then maybe we’ll get in the shower together and that is something and that’s when I feel lucky. We scrub so hard that our skin is pink, and still sometimes there’s a chicken shit smell on us. But not so much on Karen. She uses soap smelling of roses and she washes her hair in rosemary and lime and she dabs scent between her toes and her fingers and in every small crease of her skin.
And she says she feels lucky. And I think she’s got it the wrong way round, cos I reckon there’s some Friday-night-guy out there and he’s gonna be the lucky one. Kaz has curves in all the right places and her puppies sit up neat and begging. I touched them once and we kissed. But that was just messing and it was the drink that we’d had and Kaz laughed and she said I’d turn her lezzer if I wasn’t careful.
There’s guys at the crap tables and they think she’s lucky and they let Kaz throw the dice for them and sometimes she makes them some money and all her drinks is free for the night. Later, she takes the guy up to his hotel room and fucks his champagne soaked brains out. That’s how she tells it afterwards, and as he sleeps she takes all the money from his wallet and a few of the uncashed chips and she makes good her escape and that’s where she thinks she’s lucky.
But some nights she throws numbers that lose and lose big; mostly those guys just shrug and they sit to the bar and they drink till they can hardly stand and she takes them up to their hotel room and fucks them for free.
She tells us about it on Monday mornings, all the men she’s fucked, and she has to shout on account of the machines. And Frank pretends not to hear and you can see his cock hard through his trousers. He disappears to the men’s room for twenty minutes and we all know what he’s about then. We joke about it some, but in truth we is a little excited too, listening to Karen, and I am sometimes a bit wet there in my pants.