A lone man in the woods, cap pulled low over dark hair, leans against a bench while his fingers disappear between his lips, his lean, smooth body betraying nothing as he works them slow. The money in his hand clutches tighter when he finally pulls back, tongue glistening, before turning to lick his fingers clean with deliberate slowness. A pig wanders into frame now and then, indifferent to the way his smile never wavers, not even as the last stitch of his clothes gives way.
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