They stood there — both of them naked, bold as hell — against some old tapestry with faded flowers and gold trim, like a backdrop from a thrift store cathedral. Legs spread, grinning like they knew the joke and I didn’t. One of them had a butterfly tattoo, the other had a look in her eye like she’d been through worse. It wasn’t porn. It wasn’t even art. It was just two girls showing the world what it already pretends not to see. I lit a cigarette, didn’t say a word. Just watched and thought about how the rent was due and how this moment would be gone in five minutes, like all the others.