Kerim

The tattooed mechanic kneels with a wrench gripped tight, his muscles straining as he bends over a workbench, then stands with a razor poised over his own waistband. A tie and cloth bind him mid-squat, his clean-shaven jaw set as he holds a spoon, then a hammer, then pliers, each tool marking the slow strip of his clothes. By the end, he’s bare, the tools forgotten, his hole slick with the weight of what he’s done to himself.