para casandra dixit excerpt

i am weak writing. I don´t like to tell stories, because there are too many details: before I lose it all:

that girl´s neck: a slim stick supporting a doll-face fished out of a dumpster. She was silent as the baptism´s 80 disinterested children screeched and asked for coca-cola in the name of god, she smoked between the deep-fryer and the ancient marble sink, sharp black-painted nails beneath sunlight white and fatal.