A Certain Hunger

Power is the ultimate aphrodisiac.

there was no immediate reason to rush anything.

In the end, I chose to do nothing with what I knew

Divided by what they chose to eat, these people are united by the fact that they committed crimes that caused the State to kill them. What drives killers to kill is a very personal question. We like to think that men kill because they’re men—it’s as indiscriminate as their wont to procreate. The quarterbacks in the high school of life, men are given a wide berth for murder, as they are for most things. Women, on the other hand, kill for only two reasons, or so the people w

(Side note: cazzo is Italian for “cock,” but it really means so much more than that. It’s a word that’s larger on the inside than its five letters would lead you to believe. Cazzo carries a fine, long, winding caravan of epithetic meanings: cock, dick, prick, shit, penis, pecker, and fuck. For example, you might in exasperation exclaim, “Che cazzo stai dicendo?” Which, literally translated, means, “What the cock are you saying?” but more meaningfully translates to “What the fuck are you saying?” However, if you’re a woman talking to your girlfriend, she might ask of your new lover, “Ha un bel cazzo?” an inquiry regarding the fitness of your new lover’s genitals. Cazzo is an elastic word, one whose growth verges on tumescence.)

Don’t believe the lies. Don’t believe those lies, anyway. Believe others, if it makes you feel safe. Safety, too, is a lie.

I like successful men. They smell like money, confidence, and expensive hand lotion.

Two hours later, Marco was in my crimson-covered bed at the Hotel Campo de’ Fiori. “Mia cara, ti ho perso così,” he said, “odori come i fiori che crescono dalla figa di Venere. Come mi manchi leccarti, gustarti, il mio sogno Americano.” My darling, I missed you so. You smell like flowers growing from Venus’s pussy. How I miss licking you, tasting you, my American dream.

Best of all, I felt secure in the knowledge that I was going to scare the absolute fuck out of my former lover the moment he saw me walk through his butcher shop door.

It was a wealth of information, and I had multiple ways I could use it. It put a spring in my step, a smile on my face, and a slick of wetness between my thighs. Power is the ultimate aphrodisiac.