Camila + Haruki
I ripped off my travel sweat suit in the hallway of my flat, full of repressed Eros, nostalgia, and adrenalin. When I walked inside my living room, though, I saw naked college students (some of them former students of mine from my Existentialism, Eliade, and Hegel seminars) forming a circle around her, sweat dripping from their collarbones, their genitalia aroused and enlarged by SX-3. She fingered herself and shouted: —Who’s next? Who wants to fuck the Goddess of Destruction again?