look not onto me; for i'll not speak a word

she didn't dare speak. at least, not to him.
it was summertime, nighttime - the right time. it was hot. it was hot inside and it was most definitely hot outside. and she was hot as well. hot for the moment, hot for the days and especially the nights. during the night, she would saunter around, much like the stray cats roaming the neighborhood encumbering them; and then she would get to cunt-calling.
"i calls 'em like i sees 'em," she said aloud, not really talking to anyone in particular; however, it was general knowledge anyways and she was the type of person who, if things didn't get said, she would say them. and without even the bat of an eyelash. never a slip. not once. not even once.
until one night. it was not too late, not too early and it was still hot outside. but it was quiet. dead quiet. it was so quiet, you could hear the ice rattling in the shakers down the canyon. and so she started a-cunt callin'. she moved from her seat and took place atop the highest feature in the backyard - her soapbox. "you," she pointed onto a wild haired dollybird and shook her head, "no, you," and she nodded with this, "are a cunt," then, with a sweeping motion, cigarette at hand, pointed over at a bruised soul crouched on the steps, hiding his face, "are the biggest cunt," finally, she looked next to her, "you're a dumb cunt." sometimes, you really couldn't take her anywhere. sometimes it was 'cunt this' and 'cunt that.' sometimes she didn't stop.
it took mere minutes for the honey to settle on the bees and by this time the stars had come out to play and the moon stood leeringly still. it was then and there she said, "there's a ring around the moon tonight."
"oh yeah?" the bruised one called out, not moving an inch.
"yeah and you better watch it cool breeze, 'cause this doll will be up all night." he shook his head a little and rested it back in his lap.
it took seconds to shake her. she got back up, lit another cigarette and did a lap around the house. by this time, there were many a thing on her mind. she tried her hardest to act as if there wasn't, fluttering her eyes every now and then just so's no one would check her pulse, purring things like, 'can you dig it?' and muttering silently to herself. most of the time, people thought she was on drugs and most of the time she was, but you can't blame a champ for trying, can you?
that night, no, those nights, there were things that were said and there were things that, unfortunately, were not. she was looking down at her fingertips stain black and she said, "i will hurt you more than you've hurt me." she took a look around, assessed the situation; the still beginnings of the old 'plot and scheme.' but it was no use. cool breeze, if you can even call him that, was already beginning to sweat. and he was beat. he was beat so bad he didn't even know. and once he did know? it was too late for him. for him, the night had turned to morning and he was to be getting his tail on down the pavement. and for her? the hot breeze was blowing hard, knocking old creaky doors open and improving her mood. for her, the night had just begun.