Purple Prosaic is a self-publishing label featuring the nocturnal emissions of eroticists Alessia Brio & Will Belegon.




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Monique held out her hand to examine the hot pink polish she'd just daubed on the nail of her index finger, comparing it to the three other similar shades on its neighbors. "Girlfriend, that's just majorly fucked up. If he loves you like you say he says he does, then he can damned well let it be known.  I don't believe any man's words 'til he's willing to shout 'em to the world.  Until then, they're meaningless—absolutely meaningless—no matter how good they make you feel.  Trust me on this one, sugar.  I’ve been there."


Stephanie shook her head.  "You're cynical and bitter, 'Nique.  C'mon!  Be happy for me.  I found someone I want to spend my life with."


"And I suppose he's gonna leave his wife for you, right? Same ol' shit, Steph. Those kinda promises are older than dirt, and you know it!  When he walks out the door—that's when those promises mean something.  Not a moment sooner."


The clerk at the make-up counter nodded in agreement without looking up. Stephanie could tell she wanted to weigh in with her opinion, but she didn't want to take sides and risk losing a potential sale.  "What happened to your sense of romance?"


"What happened to it? I'll tell you what happened to it! Curtis happened to it. Then Ricky.  Then Dewayne. That's what happened to it. Shall I continue?"  Monique blew on her nails to dry them, pointing to her ring finger to indicate which color she preferred.  The clerk smiled and put the appropriate bottle with the collection of items Monique had already selected.


"Are you almost finished here? I promised Kiki we'd meet her for lunch at one. She only has an hour break." Stephanie lifted the bottle of cologne and sniffed at its nozzle before spraying some onto her neck.  "I'll take one of these," she told the clerk.


"Soon as I pay for this stuff.  But, Steph, I'm serious about this... guy. You know better than to jump into something like this, right?  Please don't tell me it's too late."


"Listen to your friend, honey," the clerk cautioned as she handed Stephanie her change.  The sale completed, she caved to her impulse to butt in.


Monique grinned and presented the salesperson like Vanna White presenting the letter E.  "Thank you! See, Steph? I'm not the only one who thinks you're being played. This fine woman is obviously very astute."


"This fine woman has known her own versions of Curtis... and Ricky... and Dewayne." The sales clerk placed all of Monique's purchases into a small, metallic shopping bag and added several perfume samples. "They'll tell you anything they think you want to hear.  Some do it just to get in your pants. Others do it because they don't want to hurt your feelings. Really doesn't matter why they do it, though. The end result is still a broken heart—yours."


Stephanie just shrugged. "What can I say? I love the man. I believe him. There are... mitigating factors."


"Believe this: you are a first class fool. If I had a dollar for every mitigating factor excuse I've heard, I could retire as one wealthy bee-yatch! Now, let's go eat. Shopping makes me hungry."  Monique herded her friend out of the department store with a wave over her shoulder to the clerk.