cossara

"Ah, damn.  God damn." The stain was small, no larger than a coin.  It fell near his right hip, nestled in the dip between crotch and thigh.  Still, it was nauseating.  Paul stripped off the trousers and walked to the sink, hoping the sliver of hotel soap would take out the spot. He began running the hot water and paused, staring at the vomit.  Resisting the urge to gag, he grazed his fingers over the stain.  It was purely liquid and slick like dish soap, but the sickly brown could only be vomit.  He slowly raised his hand to his face and sniffed his fingers.  Nothing.  It seemed, for a moment, odorless.  But no, he suddenly caught a faint