Red Lipstick by Chuck Boyd # Scrubbing, scrubbing. Nothing. Such a chore. Joel vaguely hears footsteps — someone coming or going. Scrub, scrub. Frantically. “Whatchya doin’, pal?” Joel looks up. A man, looking bored, one hand in his pocket, his other wrist absently swiping across an itchy nose. “Oh, you know; always starts out innocently...