specks of bunkum but somehow watery

the obligation to look presentable and tendencies against obligations

Naked woman in her room frolicking from room to room in high heels and a ponytail.
Naked woman in her room and she painted all the walls watermelon pink yesterday because she could not sleep.
Naked woman at the door squinting up, yelling at the noon sun overhead for he's in too awkward a position presently to lick her walls lurid.
Naked woman sitting on her dining table, making faces, her heart heavy with boredom, vanity and a sincere dread of the future, a maddening itch commanding an impossible relief she cannot perform or afford and so she spills.
Naked woman wanting a bob cut.

Naked woman like chewed up gum sitting, pondering on a bean bag that like a tongue holds her out to the world, mocks her hugging-gly, wishing her name was Zia, Maria or anything that ends in "ia" that could justify her room being painted watermelon pink.

There's something so delicate about the disaster of her moaning mien sprangled starfishedly on the floor, you feel almost afraid to touch her might she collect herself, get a job and start smiling mechanically.

Naked woman eating and vomiting her femininity that sits coquetteish-ly on flamingo coloured china as she opens and closes her window, wondering what she could possibly become that would declare this debt to her landlord paid, the landlord that has loaned her this pink horrendous body that she so loves and hates, as she opens and closes her window.

Crazy pink naked woman that I saw from the street who makes my neck ache from arching it too long to stare at her, for even when it is night out and my surroundings sleep disgustingly on the cemented pavement of modernity and mediocrity, I look up and see lavender rose-ish flutters of ribbon dancing-bouncing excitedly out from the open window of the crazy naked woman's loaned room, the tiny room that costs far too much, the tiny room that sets alight this corner of the town that before today had bored me to death.