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Everything appeared to be grey, but she knew what colour everything was. Or at least what was important in the neurons of her mind, making shortcuts in the thought process. Grey oozed from the grey flesh, tender under the ear. She could taste the grey, invoking lust. More tender, yet firm flesh within reach. She watched hands explore, clawing, manipulating. She watched genitalia being used and spent, then wrung dry of white and grey, tasting spicier than the grey from before. Beside her, reflection caught her eye, and she looked to the mirror dusted with white and grey and black powder.

She woke up, knowing she was still in the motel only a week since her parole. And she knew then what caused her to hesitate.