Prose on potato chips
A group of waiters live in a ramshackle house a few blocks from here. They’re older men, dispossessed, marginal, perhaps homosexual or tired of women and resigned to die as proletariat. They let a mentally-disturbed woman live with them who spent seven years in prison for killing her baby boy.
This woman lives in their storage room, which she converted into a bedroom. She is unattractive and middle-aged. One of the men walks in to her bedroom unannounced and beholds the following: she is naked, eating original-flavor Doritos, watching television, and playing with herself. She is ambidextrous. The light from the television reflects off of her stomach.
The men wait two weeks until they collectively decide to evict her. They never eat Doritos again.