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Saturday, December 18, 2010


Older men rest their aches in recliners
At one end of the mall
Sprawled out and trying to resist looking foolish,
So they fight sleep by keeping an eye open,
Watching for hot young women passing by
There are plenty of them

Stroller speed mixes.
The larger the family, the slower
Single mothers rush by
As if repulsed by the other breeders
They’re different, somehow
Their baggage is less

Young couples walk hand in hand
Some slow, the girl fussy and unhappy
Some brisk, she’s happy so he’s happy
They pick their future stroller speed
And their lot in life
The mall’s what forms it for them

The very old line up at the buffet
And chuckle in common
At the futility of the younger people
They see the fate we all have at the end
How meaningless everything is
Except eating

Many attractive women wonder the malls
Not too young or too old
Their wiggles crying for attention
Even as they do not
They didn’t yet go the route of stroller races
A matter of time and a guy that’ll do

They look good and feel like shit
Each a pain in the ass
Settling for what guy they can accept
Good enough to get them pushing a stroller
And seeking a buzz from purchases
From the mall

I walk out, light a smoke
Stand alone, inhaling and exhaling
Wondering about life and purpose
Depressed, hopeless, enjoying
the cold, lifeless wind
that’s more comforting than the mall

I walk away, glad to be alone.

Saturday, November 20, 2010

Bulls in the attic

I rolled over in the uncomfortable bed. My back was killing me. Ugh, another day of this shit. It was 10:30 in the morning, and my head hurt worse than usual. I rose and went for the only known cure for the morning blah; coffee. After the pot was set, I went to the bathroom and did my routine. I still felt like shit and faced a whole day of it. I wished I could have fast forwarded to after work, when I’d be home drinking wine and catching up on the days’ news while I waited for Zantha to come over.
There was an opportunity we were exploring. It was a 5,500 sq ft building with storefront, warehouse space, and offices that could be converted to a place to live. All that for much less than an apartment! I had doubts they’d lease it to me. They wanted a business plan and financials. I had neither. Zantha was very optimistic, though, and was coming over to help prepare paperwork. I would be so glad to see her!
After a third cup of coffee, I looked at my cell to see if anyone sent a text. It showed I had missed Zantha’s call. Being awake enough to converse, I eagerly called back, figuring she was bored at her store and wanted to talk. The day was starting well after all.
Her day was going far worse than mine! First, she ran out of coffee at her house, so had none in the morning. She remembered I had left coffee at her store the last time I was there, and so headed to the store early to take her cure for mornings. She arrived to a waterfall in the middle of her store. Upstairs plumbing of the old building had developed a leak. Forty pieces of clothing were soaked. She called the building owner and left a message, then called the maintence guy, who called the plumber. Then she rearranged the store to make room for the new waterfall.
What a day she was having! It was busy for a Tuesday, but few stayed long. The place was a mess. Sales were lost. A couple hours later, the building owner had come in to see the new store design she had just completed. He did not get his voice mail. He stood staring at the waterfall, then left to make more phone calls.
We talked for a good half hour. She was understandably upset, but there was a delighted wackiness to her voice. It was bad, but an adventure. I love that about her. She can take the shittery of life and make it an adventure, so long as it doesn’t take too long to be resolved. We talked and laughed, but had mixed in empathy and frustration in the conversation to keep each other sane. Soon, she went back to thinking of ways around the water and I left for work. The fun was over, for a while, anyway. She’d still be over that night, and more enjoyment was in store.
It turned out more bad luck was to follow. The plumber came, assessed the situation, and left to get pipes and so on. The waterfall continued. Customers came and left quickly. Time rolled on and on. Still no plumber. Hours later, a phone call solved the mystery; his truck broke down. He wouldn’t be back that day. The water for the building would be turned off after closing, but the water would continue to fall all night.
My route was fine, the usual shittery, but nothing too terrible. My back ached, I couldn’t feel my legs, and felt devaststed when filling the gas tank. The usual plight of the underemployed. I counted the hours until I’d have both wine and Zantha, and hope for opportunity. I daydreamt about it all; the storefront would hold Zantha’s second store, which meant more time with her. The apartment built in the office space. The warehouse converted to a playhouse and wine bar. The cheap rent and higher income. Being a business owner again. The return of my old self; ambitious, optimistic, driven, hopeful, not just a low paid employee with dim prospects who depended on coffee and wine to make it through the day.
Toward evening, Zantha sent a text explaining that she had a monster headache and was going to lay down for a while. I knew what that meant; no Zantha tonight. Gone was the adventure she had in her voice earlier. It had taken too long. I couldn’t blame her. What shit to have happen! She lost money from sales, had 40 pieces damaged, and nothing had been resolved. Small business owners don’t have much margin of losing before it becomes a huge deal, and have to strike while sales are available. She had taken a hell of a hit. I found myself wishing I could give a long massage and clear the way for her to sleep sound.
That evening we spoke by phone again, and she told me all about it. Nothing was done about the waterfall all day, and she wondered about the next day. I listened and tried to support her. No help could do anything but ease the stress slightly. It was numbers and frustrations, all external to us. Conditions can be so ruthless. I offered to help at the store in the morning. She accepted. We got off the phone after an hour or so. I had a few more glasses of wine, tried to write poetry, and went to sleep.
The next morning, I woke with a severe backache that overshadowed my aching head. Coffee brewed, bathroom routine done, and ached stretching out of the way, coffee brought focus. It was 8:30. Coffee helped me remember why I was up so early; Zantha. I chugged two more cups while smoking, filled my thermos, and was out the door.
Zantha’s store was rearranged to cater to the demanding water, but she managed to make it look alright. There was a big tub in the middle of the store, filled with last night’s water. Zantha and I slid the tub out to the parking lot and dumped it. We put it back with little water on the floor, and I worked on the carpet with a shopvac. Zantha went about the store trying to make it look as good as possible. It was early, so few people came by anyway.
Shortly, two plumbers came in, needing to get to the attic to work on the pipes. Zantha showed them where to go. They hardly looked like professional plumbers. They looked more like rural farmers, with overalls and dumbed down facial expressions. They had rural, almost southern accents. Thre was a certain drawl to the speaking. I had known guys like that; unruly, clumbsy good old boys who lacked style, consideration, or common sense. Bulls in china shops. I worried for Zantha. Don’t get me wrong. I was and am a dog, but I can be a well behaved dog. They’re bulls. Bulls just destroy.
Having cleaned up as well as could be done, I could have left. There was nothing more I could have done. I stayed around for Zantha, as I worried about the farmer/plumber bulls that were in her attic. Customers were coming in. Zantha flowed magically through the store helping them pick the right looks, the right clothes, the right everything. The bulls in the attic thumped and stuffled voices could be heard, much like Charlie Brown’s teacher. I could see the collision course; the cultured, upscale customers in the store and the bulls in the attic meeting head to head. The bulls had nothing to lose. The customers would leave, offended. The only one who could lose was Zantha. I pondered calling off work to head off the bulls. I was the bullfighter of a woman’s clothing store.
The bulls came and went with pipes and tools, and thumped around in the attic and clanged at their truck. As late morning arrived, more ladies tried things on, and the dressing rooms were rather busy. Many tuned out the waterfall and got in the zone of shopping. Things were going as well as could be.
With everything going on, there was one thing neither I nor Zantha had thought of. While the bulls sounded muffled from the sales floor, they could be heard perfectly from the dressing rooms. It wasn’t an issue early, as few customers ventured in the store, and few had gone into the dressing rooms. Now those rooms were busy.
A woman who had been in the zone for quite a while headed for the dressing room with a pricey sexy outfit . She was an older lady, probably in her early fifties, and conservatively dressed. She walked past sporting a devilish grin and a bright glow about her. It was clear that just the thought of owning such an outfit was making her day. Knowing nothing about womens’ fashion, and not caring about anything except taking clothes off, I was amazed at the effect clothes can have on a person. It gave me an even greater admiration of Zantha and her passions.
The lady was in there quite a while. Then it happened. The bulls in the attic had been coming toward the stairway after taking off the leaking pipes. That put them close to the dressing room and the cash register where Zantha and I were standing.
We over heard one bull say to the other, “Now THEMS some old pipes!”
There were thumps in the dressing room. Shortly, the older lady darted from the dressing room. Her clothes were unkempt, and her shoes barely on. She darted past, redfaced and furious, emabarrassed and hurt. Zantha held her head low, her hands over her face, trying to suppress anger. I held her close and waited for bulls to climb down the ladder. I knew bulls would respond to a bullfighter better than to a classy woman like Zantha, so I offered to talk with them. She went to the other customers. I went to fight the bulls.
“Hey guys, can I speak with you for a moment?”
They glared harsh. Bulls on the ready. “What you want?”
“she has customers here. They can hear you in the dressing room. A lady heard you about old pipes and thought you meant her.”
Laughter erupted. Make a bull laugh, and he’ll do what you want.
“It sounds funny, but it cost Zantha a sale of $250. Would you laugh if you lost $250 in 3 seconds?”
There was no laughing.
“Just please watch what you say, and try to stay away from the dressing room area. You might want to apologize to Zantha too. She’s losing a lot of money with all this.”
The bulls sneared a bit, then went to the truck. Zantha was glowing about another sale. My God, what a woman! What talent, smarts, skill! She rebounds from everything with a glow, with class, with smarts, with beauty. I watched her a while in admiration, doing her thing, smiling and glowing. A Godsend. A miracle. Everything would be just fine with her, despite it all. Waterfalls, disasters, lack of coffee. She’ll always be amazing.
It was time for me to go to work. Back to realities of traffic, killer back aches, headaches, idiot customers, incompetent managers, low pay, dim prospects, hopelessness, and low wages. At least Zantha would be over that night. There was much to look forward to, and much to be happy about. I climbed in my little clown car. I had been the bullfighter, now I was the clown.
The mindless, soulless clown car pulled out of the parking lot, and drove away from the store. The brakes ground at every stop. Sports talk came from the radio. Rain was swept away by wipers. There was no feeling in the legs that operated the pedals. An aching back leaning against the seat. A numbed spirit paired with an empty mind went on autopilot to get the day over with. Cigarette smoke rolled out of the window. A new day was at hand.

Tuesday, September 21, 2010


The tide is marvelous when it rolls in
The water is just over one’s foot and calm
With waves that caress the beach
Like gentle foreplay

In the distance appears incoming waves
White water catches the eye first
and the galloping gangs of tide quickly close in
while the water levels rise

soon the waves pick up speed
growing sounds of water crashing
determined white water pummels
relentless, intense, unstoppable

just a short while ago
water was just to your ankles
now it’s nearly to your waist and climbing
as you back toward shore

the sea isn’t satisfied and sends more
push you back toward shore
as wave after wave hits you
and tries to take you

as intense as it is, you know the tide will disappear
and you’ll look for it to come back again
you’ll long for it’s intensity, it’s action
it’s sounds, even it’s pummeling

you’ll miss the high tide like a good woman’s love.

Our damn broke

We walked along the beach
as the sun set

The waves crashed
as the tide rolled out

We walked hand in hand
as people passed by

The sun fought the clouds
as if it could win

We conversed pleasantly
as if nothing were happening

The wind blew hard
as if it could topple everything

We built a damn of sand
as if it could hold the stream

The water held back and rose
as if held by our damn

We watched the colors of the sunset
as if it mattered to us

The wind grew colder
as if to hurry our sunset

We held each other tightly
as if we meant it

We resisted the changing climate
as if it were our last moments

Our damn broke, our sun set
as if any other result were possible

Monday, August 9, 2010

Hell of a waste

There’s a man leaning against the concrete
Sitting with a cup and a sign for help
No shower, shave, clean clothes, or meal
For days on end. One of countless.
A couple of women walk by
One very pregnant. Concrete faces.
A preacher asks me if I know Christ.
“Yeah, but others need him more.”
“YOU KNOW him?!”
“Yeah, move on to the next.”

The preacher leans down and prays with the beggar
“Oh Jesus this oh Jesus that…”
Isn’t he supposed to be Jesus?

Teenage boys walk past and taunt the preacher
And homeless guy. Others walk past
Pretending not too see or hear.

The punishing sun beats down
Upon all the passers by.
There are young couples trying to impress each other,
By saying the right things
There are old couples passing by,
Trying to reconnect by saying the right things
There are children passing by
Trying to have the right experiences
There are loners passing by
Trying to seem connected
There are beggars sitting around
Trying to seem worthy

I count what money I have
To buy a sandwhich and a drink
And marvel at the lies that walk and sit
If not for the sunshine and fresh air,
It’s a hell of a waste

Thursday, July 8, 2010

Laying in bed on a Thursday morning

Laying in bed on a Thursday morning
Your eyes barely open
Still slumbering face
Mischievous smile fronts severe hangover
From a hard night’s drinking
Fuzzy thoughts of empowerment
Change and contrast
From the dull life of suburbia
Coffee in bed, spoon and milk nearby
Struggling to converse with
The stray wino who kept you up
Before I leave for work

Sitting on the chair
That someone had abandoned in the hall
Wine bottles and half full glasses
Sit on the table with too many things
Talk about everything and anything
Drink and laugh
Your delicious bitterness and sarcasm
Echo the tiny studio
Your eyes light up in rebellion
From your past and present
Comments that blast
The bullshit of the life
We are all to aspire to
Your words and slams are poetic
Even as you don’t realize
Say so much
In ways no one else can
Makes me feel closer

Walking up huge hills to follow sunshine
On cloudy, chilly days
Just a few blissful moments
As the sun begins to set
On the vacation of your presence
A matter of hours
Before you’ll return
To the dull world
You made fun of the night before

Your hot body dancing in the studio
The stray wino struggles to keep up
While jazz plays on the tv
Your moves are amazing
So sexual, so arousing
Curves and legs, hips and breasts
Amazing smile and eyes that hide nothing

The long, sweet embrace
That becomes bitter when it ends
Because it ends
Holding tight like a woman in love
Feel your heartbeat
And your soul
Knowing you’re the only one
There were none like you before
You cannot be again

The beautiful voice
That changes when drunk
Becoming sentimental or scornful
And at times sorrowful
About life that disappointed
And things that were
To be different
Including yourself

A driving force to enjoy
And live to the fullest
A lone torch in the darkness
Frustrated by the late sunrise
So beyond special

The beautiful face
With classic features
So much class
But drunken by cheap wine
Drunk with the stray wino
Your eyes gleam with energy
Despite signs of exhaustion
Defying the propers
Being adulterous with the stray wino
And loving it
Sleep hits like bricks from the sky
Hot sexy body crawls into bed

Being blessed to experience
These and so many countless others
With such a special woman
Wears on the soul
Like a beggar who
gets gourmet dinners a few times a week
Instead of the usual dollar grease burgers
It feels so amazing while dining
But so bad after the plate is empty
As he wonders if he’ll have another meal

There had been others
Few here and there
But none like you, Babe
There just aren’t Beccas running around
What and who you are
Has never been and won’t be again
You are original in every way

All the other subscribe to this or that
Follow scripts, be someone else
Cookie cutter, unoriginal, unthinking
Just following the crowd
Or going against it on purpose
No one else gets it
No one else can

there you sit
or lay or walk or talk
or drink or dance or laugh
or cry or blast or think quietly
share much with me
create memories
That haunt when you’re not here

The parking spot outside
Waits like a puppy
For his owner to get home from work
Tonight it waits in vain
The chair awaits that amazing ass
As the space longs for your voice
And energy and laugh
The table is eager for your glass
The bed is haunted by our love making
Lengthy talks, cuddled slumber
The kitchen remembers our first long embrace
After our first date
And longs for one of us to be cooking
For dinner or breakfast together
The shadows eagerly await
They remember the moves
And motions
They long to party too
Celebrate us

You’ve been gone around 13 hours now
And even as I know you’re coming back
I miss you, Beautiful
The place just isn’t the same
It won’t be until you return home.
Becca, I love you.

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

Just keep smiling

Everyone knew Chuck was a good guy. He was tall, handsome, smart, and friendly. He’d give the clothes off his back. There was a downside. Chuck liked attached women. Married, engaged, committed. Whatever. He was always getting them. They couldn’t resist the charming looker. Chuck was always in trouble.
I was a distant friend. We drank together. He passed a couple attached chicks my way when I needed them. We hung out once in a while, part of a crowd that tried to get women. We’d hit the dive bars for cheap drinks, then hit the clubs. Chuck was a leader and something of a hero to many drunken guys. Many tried to copy Chuck. No one succeeded.
One night we did the usual. We hit the local dives, got drunk and high, then went to a happening bar. It would be crowded and hopping. Chuck had been bragging about a blond he had a few nights back. He detailed her body, her voice, her climax. He was bothered because she cried afterward. She was engaged, and actually loved the guy she was with. Now it was over.
No one imagined Chuck could be sentimental. The whole thing bothered him, for some reason. His face reflected pain. He walked hunched over, defeated and broken. We tried to cheer him up. It was no use.
We walked into the bar. The band played and hot women ran around in next to nothing. We stood and checked out the crowd, inventing strategies to find women. Chuck had lived up, as we knew he would.
There was some yelling in the distance. Suddenly I saw a big guy coming at us. He was airborne with fists flying.
Chuck yelled, “It’s him!”
The scene unfolded in slow motion. I was too slow. The punch hit me harder than I thought possible. I flew against the wall, but somehow didn’t fall down. The sound of “Ohh” filled the bar. All eyes were on me. The puncher got up and looked at me. It was confusion.
For some reason, I was smiling. Maybe it was being able to take such a hit. Maybe it was what I had wound up.
My fist was on route. My back and legs added to the force. My fist was more than half way there when I found myself airborne. The bouncer had intervened. The door collided with my head, or vice versa. I was on the sidewalk. Blood ran everywhere. I jumped up, too pissed to see straight. I was going to kick somebody’s ass!
Two cops rushed past me. I heard the sound of brawl inside, and rethought my wanting to go back in there. A third cop stopped and yelled;
I waited for the cop to go inside, then I left. What? Was I that stupid? Would my going to jail help anything?
In the end, Chuck had been beaten pretty bad. He would never be the Chuck we knew. The fight had pounded sense into him. The bar was left in bad shape. The fight made the newspapers. The cops remembered to look for me. They never found me.
The guy who beat chuck was a brute, and known for violence. No one took him on. However, from that night on, he left as soon as I showed up. I was a legend, and my smile remembered. I will never forget the look of shear terror that man gave. He hit me with all he had, and saw me standing there smiling. I know it was just the wall holding me up, but I never had to hit him or even speak to him, and he feared me terribly.
Just goes to show the importance of being able to take a hit and keep smiling.

Tuesday, June 22, 2010


She would leave on a Sunday night
Or a Monday morning
Leaving me with a dead place
Haunted with passions

I would walk in after minutes or a day
See my mess and hear vacancy
Glance for a nugget she may have left behind
Never a lonlyness that deep

Gradually the place would feel mine again
Not ours. Not about her.
I’d drink and smoke and write
Nasty stuff, but true

On many levels, I would look forward
to her coming back and
drinking with me
before going to bed

the next day she would leave the place just as dead
as empty as the graveyard
as I lied in bed like a corpse with a pulse
but not as dead as most.


“Do you want me to take my robe too?
It’s the most intimate thing I have here.”

“No. you don’t have to take anything.
Just thought you wanted to.”

Her backpack was full.
The tears in her eyes were more full.

A long embrace in the same messy kitchen
as when we met the first time.

She stood sighing, sad, driving forward
Or backward. Away one way or another.

She didn’t look back or forward
just didn’t want to be where she was

Kisses, gentle and other
passions and caresses

Last touches of a love
building for some time

Eruption as tears escape the hot eyes
and burning emotions

tears making a run for it
falling to the floor and sizzling

Lying side by side, intense crying
holding, comforting, reassuring, ending

Wine no longer flows.
Laughter a distant memory.

Silence smashed by sobs
sense of rot strenches the air

Wide eyed and broken
weathered face sees through darkness.

with glazed over eyes
been here, done that

Another chapter winding down
reluctant yawns, hating the coldness

Within a day the bed will be cold
even the shadows will forget the moves of love

Life swallowing silence will take over
memories fade to dismissal

Lifeless rooms, cold bed
numb mind, drunken body

Remembering what may not have been
what shouldn’t have began or ended

Return to normal half life
only sound of fans as company

All good things must come to an end.

Saturday, June 19, 2010


We talked and drank and smoked
As I tried not to look at the roll
That greatly surpassed her tits
As she sat drinking and smoking
But no one could help but notice

We talked and drank and smoked
And I sized her up
She was a merely decent looking woman
But pleasant, likeable, intelligent
There was also obvious availability

We talked and drank and smoked
on the porch while others milled about
we covered politics and personalities
ethics and commonalities
no fluff, right to the point

we talked and drank and smoked
and she began telling me
what she found attractive about me
face, arms, legs, smarts, personality
I thought she was going to make a pass

We talked and drank and smoked
And she went on
To say that there was one thing
that detracted from my attractiveness;
my belly is too big.

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

old saying

Before writing the nights away
I worked seven days a week
Impossible hours, impossible conditions
Year after year after year
Never missing one day

Then the economy collapsed
I got stuck working just forty five hours a week
Instead of a hundred and ten
Rotting and wasting, getting in trouble
Losing my mind

I started writing; poems, stories, novels,
I was addicted immediately
Now I sit and drink and smoke and write
Deep into the night
Churning out work after work after work

As I think of it, I have actually managed
to combine workaholism and alcoholism
and now I cannot stop either.
Frying pan and fire;
not just an old saying

Lessons from old houses

The old houses are still standing in those towns
A century or more of memory, few good

Thick dust pours from every crack
Dead with past subsistence
Alive with warning of wasting lives
The timeless struggle before death

Houses were made of lumber back then
Actual lumber, from trees
Built to last centuries
Warehouse generations of cheap labor

They appear sad from the front
To remind adults that live there
that their fates are sealed
destined for dust

Who owns who? The house have seen their kind
Watched them decay from young and vibrant
To old and broken and dying,
Decade by decade, generation by generation

Walk those streets today and see
The generations turned to dust and vague memory
Struggles that led nowhere
Old dreams that died, whether realized or not

Remember all those that pinned their existence
To “owning” those houses, laboring decades
They’re all gone, but the houses remain
To trap more into laboring decades for the house that’ll outlast

The streets are filled with warnings
Lifetimes of struggle and savings
Leave nothing when all’s said and done
When existence is wasted

Tuesday, June 1, 2010


Has “One more” ever been literal?


A body inside a silent apartment
Mulling over what a life is to become
Concentrating on direction, occupation
Obligation, copulation, masturbation
Considering politics, policy, tragedy
Dumb luck, sperm lottery of inheritance
Power, prestige, nobility
Hopelessness, homelessness, despair
Rot, ruin, death, pain, torture
Broken hearts, divorce, expense
Happiness mythology, chemicals,
Violence, repression, war, famine
Cruelty, hatred, social hierarchy
Childhood, adulthood, ancient civilization
Food, hunger, work, reward
Animal, passion, horniness
ranking, shopping, consuming
Spending, paying, fitting in
Going without, going green, being proper
Getting drunk and passing out

While birds sing cheerfully outside the window

Better answers

“What are your intentions with me?”
She sat looking apprehensive, her thin legs crossed. The look of hope and confusion combined to make a pitiful sight.
I hesitated to answer. I wasn’t prepared and had a massive hangover.
“This? First thing in the morning?”
“I have another guy I spent nights with. I don’t need you. I just wanna know.”
“Huh? Wow!”
“Well, a girl like me is in demand. I can get anyone.”
“Ok, ok, but can’t we have coffee and get awake? I can hardly form words.”
“Oh, it’s like that. You can’t even tell me..”
“Yes, I can, just let me wake up first.”
A huge sigh came from deep inside her. I drank my coffee and smoked. Her face was red and getting redder.
“Are you awake yet?!”
I poured more coffee and lit another smoke. How could I deal with this? I was somewhat interested in more with her before, but after this? I stayed silent. She sat broiling. What did she want?! We had only known each other three weeks! The sex was good, and she was hot, but come on, three weeks?! And another guy?!
Still, the sex was good..
“Fuck this! I’m leaving! You are obviously only looking for fun!”
I said nothing, but let her go. The door slammed hard. I chuckled, and realized how lucky I was.
A week later she was back, but clarified that she was only looking for fun. I made her agree to no questions until my fourth cup of coffee. She never asked a question of me again. A month later she was with someone else. I guess he had better answers.

Singing beautiful songs

I remember having a huge crush on a woman in the small college town in which I once lived. Her name was Silvia. She was tall and thin, with long dark hair, very French, and had a rocking ass. While many attractive women had such qualities, Silvia was special. She had fire, intellect, and fairness, not to mention being fun loving. That combination drove me wild. Of course, Silvia was always with someone, so it was difficult to find opportunities to make a move.
I had moved to Pittsburgh to try my luck in a city for the first time, but still found myself longing for Silvia and the company of a few others from that town. At the time, I was pretty hard core in partying, and almost always had some fun substances on me for such special events. People knew when I’d be in town, and often made sure to be around. It was always a hell of a great time.
Gradually I became more severe in the party scenes, and was increasing seen as being from the city, so I was something of a novelty in the town. When I’d show up to visit, I would first arrive at Silvia’s. My priority was to attempt to get her. Her boyfriends were not amused. Her girlfriends acted stranger over time, but still came to have a good time.
One night Silvia wasn’t home. I was supposed show up at seven at night. I knocked on her door. There was no answer. I was going to wait in my car when her boyfriend, Brian, showed up. He was a tall, goofy looking hippy type guy that loved lsd and shrooms more than alcohol. We didn’t care for each other, but had mutual interest in seeming friendly.
“You lookin’ for Silvia?”
“Yeah, we were to meet at Seven.”
“She’s out. Has a date with some guy. We ended two weeks ago. Still friends though.”
“Oh, sorry to hear that.”
Brian spoke through clenched teeth.
“So, she stood you up this time. Huh.”
“Oh hell, Brian, let’s just party.”
I took out some beers, handed him one, then look out the coke, and cut some lines on the smooth clean stairs. We snorted the lines and chugged the beers. Brian brought out a bottle of vodka and a few hits of acid. We made short work of both as we took to bullshitting.
Before long a car pulled up with a couple inside. The male driver was rather large and clean cut. He had a very friendly, almost child like face. The passenger was Silvia, looking as hot as ever. Her smile was so genuine, and there was a rosy glow about her as they spoke. She kept glancing out the window at us, as if to let us know she was coming. Brian and I just watched and drank while sitting on the steps. After a few minutes, Silvia gave the baby face a little peck on the cheek and got out of the car.
She was hotter than ever. Her walk showed so much sexuality that I was instantly hard. Brian sat with his head down. She did not look back at the departing car, but just guided her amazing body at us. She smiled a devilish grin. She looked at me in such a way that made me think I was going to melt.
Brian spoke but continued to look down.
“How was your date?”
“It was good. We went to a great show and a wonderful restaurant. He was such a gentleman! Unlike you two, sitting here getting high and drinking!”
She picked up my beer and chugged it down. I cut three lines, and she snorted it quickly. Brian stood up and looked directly at her, but then took a soft stance before speaking.
“I have to go get ready to meet Kim. See you later.”
He left without looking back. Silvia looked at me and smiled. I almost fell in love.
“Come on up. I can’t party dressed like this, and you’ll get in trouble if I leave you here alone. I know you.”
We walked up the three flights of stairs to her place. She opened the door, and we went in. I wanted to make moves immediately, but it seemed wrong somehow.
“Make yourself at home. I’ll be right back, gonna go change. Then we’ll party.”
I sat down on her couch and cut six lines. I took three, then chugged beer. I went to her kitchen, opened the cabinet where she kept liquor and wine, found some opened wine, and helped myself. I was on my third glass when she came out. I still have it in my memory how she looked! Tight shorts, amazing legs, tiny top with pointed nipples… damn!
She sat down and finished the lines, and left a very feminine sigh. Damn again. We spoke about everything and nothing at once. Silvia told me she and Brian were taking a break, but were still together.
“I just need more fun. All Brian does is drop acid, take ‘shrooms, and party. Plus I found out he pierced some girl’s clit at a party that I wasn’t at. I mean, what is that? He doesn’t know how to treat a lady.”
Silvia drank some wine and lit a cigarette.
“He doesn’t appreciate wines. He’s sweet, but doesn’t do romance. The guy I was with tonight was romantic. Not many guys are romantic. You’re too much in to partying and fun.”
“But, to be fair, you’re into partying and having fun too. Can you do without that? It doesn’t seem like the guy you were with tonight is much for partying and having fun.”
“True enough. He’s nice. Polite. He treats women like ladies.”
“Hmm.. but he’s not here.”
Silvia laughed.
“No. No he isn’t.”
She picked up the wine bottle and took some swigs.
“We’re invited to some parties tonight. I have a couple I’d like to check out. You’ll like them. Just don’t get too fucked up too early, ok? I know you.”
“Ok, sounds like fun.”
We drank for a while longer, laughing and flirting. I kept looking for chances, but found none. I struggled to keep my eyes off Silvia but failed as usual. She didn’t mind at all, but kept my advances at bay with body language. After a while, her phone rang. She got up and walked over to answer. I nearly came just watching that ass and those legs. I paid no attention to the conversation.
“Ok. The best party is downstairs! That’s really cool! We don’t have to go far.”
The party was pretty lame, especially compared to what I knew in the city. Nonetheless, there were attractive women, plenty of alcohol, and lots of fun. Many guys flirted with Silvia, of course, including me. It struck me that those guys got further with her than the guy who had gone all out for their date. I wondered what that miserable guy’s night was like.
I did flirt with many women, and tried to with many more. None seemed overly interested, even as they tended my direction. The novelty factor of being “from the city” combined with a solid supply of drugs kept them interested. They kept looking Silvia’s direction. Silvia was making the rounds, and flirting with guys, but kept coming back to flirt more heavily with me.
An hour or so later, the party started to fizzle. Energy levels dropped. A few were yawning, and people left. It wasn’t a good night. Before long, there were just a few. Even with some coke, no one was as lively as Silvia and me. She asked me if I was ready to go. I was very ready. We said goodbyes and went back to her place. I always stayed there when I was in town. I slept on her futon in the living room. Silvia was always good to me.
When we arrived, Silvia looked at me before opening the door. Her expression showed a combination of sexuality, mischief, drive, and confusion. She opened the door and sexily walked in. I followed on a cushion of air. She stood in the middle of the living room for a brief moment, then walked into her bedroom. I silently followed. She looked back and began to undress. First her shirt came off, then she slid off her shorts. I took my shirt off, then my jeans, and began walking toward her.
It was then we heard it. There was squeaking and moaning coming from the floor above us. Brian lived in the apartment above Silvia. How was this to play out? I braced for the two possible scenarios.
Silvia undid her bra, and slid her panties around her hips. They fell to the floor. She picked up a bottle of whiskey and took a long swig, then laid down on the bed. I was on top of her in seconds, kissing and caressing. The foreplay intensified. We were all over each other, caressing, fondling, kissing, licking, and breathing heavy. Intense fucking followed, again and again. From the sounds above, Silvia and Brian were having a contest to see who could have the best fuck without being together.
After an hour and a half, Silvia won. I joked it was coke vs acid. Silvia laughed. I went for and received another round. After a drink of water, I got yet another round, but had trouble completing. Then we passed out.
In the morning, Silvia woke first and woke me up with a cup of coffee. We sat and talked like nothing happened. Nonetheless, once I got awake, I was able to get another round of sex (a quickie). We spent more time talking and having coffee. The morning was melting away. I thought maybe something more might develop. I certainly would have liked to have had more, even as I was grateful for what I had gotten.
Our talking was interrupted by a knock at the door. It was the large guy Silvia had dated. He walked in full of sunshine before Silvia could stop him. He stopped cold when he saw me. I was sitting there still in my underwear. I wasn’t sure whether he was going to cry or beat the hell out me.
“Oh, I see.”
He walked out.
“Chad! I’m sorry! Wait!”
“No, I saw that guy last night when I dropped you off. It’s ok, Silvia.”
Silvia was distressed, naturally, but she had an expression that showed an understanding of the natural, primal drives that underlie all human activity. After all, nice guys finish last. They may as well not even enter the race.
Silvia sat down and poured a glass from the half full bottle of wine from the last night. I poured one too. We drank a silent cheer for the primal condition we are all trapped in. The clang of our glasses colliding echoed through the emptiness of the apartment that the bright sunshine illuminated. It echoed still deeper to the emptiness of it all, as birds were heard outside singing beautiful songs.

Saturday, May 29, 2010


The morning light means it’s time to sleep.

The empty bottles and the empty pack of smokes
means the writing is done for the night

The eviction notice means it’s back to the streets

The pink slip means it’s time to skate

The “let’s talk” means the end of sex

how else can ends be marked?

Wednesday, May 26, 2010

Keep it that way

There was a petite red head at one of my favorite hangouts back east that I always had my eye on. Many other guys also keep a famished eye on her as well, and we often compared notes. Men considered her too hot, and thus too in demand for any of us to have a chance. Yet she was there every other Saturday, showing off that amazing body, and never seemed to have a man with her.
Her long red hair flowed so beautifully to the gothic music, her tight body moved in all the right ways, and she had the look of sensuality that would make anyone cum in a mere minute. Other women seemed to dislike her. Men would drop anything to have just a peek. She oozed sex, screamed it in beautifully silent screams. Most of us forgot our own names when she danced.
I usually stayed close to the bar, but made the rounds and checked out the dance floor all too often. It was always important to be seen talking with many people, even as there was little to talk about. The place was always full and lively. There were attractive women, their male friends, and intimidated males who drank away their sorrows of not being able to get the attractive women. I was different in that I didn’t care about status or being able to get whoever. I just wanted to drink and enjoy, so I talked with everyone.
The night that changed things and elevated my status came the when i was determined to not go out for financial reasons. I was having troubles, and decided to save money. However, there was a party at work for the customers. The owners of the small printing company had made the mistake of having an open bar and inviting employees. We drank them dry, and stayed long after the customers left. Free drinks? Are you kidding me?
After the owners threw us out, my boss, an Irishman name Bob, dropped me off three blocks from my apartment. It was also four blocks from my fave club, and I was drunk and fired up. There was no way I was heading home.
I walked in, went to the bar, and bought a rum and coke. The place was packed as usual, but I was more fired up than usual. I went to the dance floor. There she was again, like a vision, oozing sexuality, dancing alone. I sipped heavily, then took the plunge.
I danced right over to her. She looked at me, then danced away. I kept on dancing, slowly inching closer. She looked at me and danced away, but turned her head and gave me a look that seemed to ask “Do you dare?” I dared, and danced to her again. Her expression was if to ask “Who is this guy?!” She danced facing my direction. Her facial expression showed interest.
It was as if the whole place was watching. Many were. None I had known of had gotten to this level with her. We danced closer. The music seemed to elevate in energy. We danced even closer. Then closer again. Her expression lightened from standoffish to surrender. My cock was rock hard, and my heart pumped violently.
Then it happened. We danced too close, and gravity of passion gripped us hard. Within seconds, we were dancing with no space between us. She rubbed her sensitive parts against me everywhere. We kissed, then took turns kissing each others’ necks. I caressed her curves with my hands. She raised her arms as to invite me to caress even more of her. As the d.j. announced a break, we kissed with full tongue action. All eyes were on us.
We went to the bar to get drinks. I readied to pay. She smacked my hands down, and pulled out her debit card. She bought the drinks, then pulled me off to a quieter area. We sat down close together and set our drinks down. She gave the look, that of having been turned on and needing more. No words were exchanged. We kissed and made out for a solid half hour.
She paused from the kissing first. After a moment, she got up, grabbed my hand, and led me out of the bar. When we got outside, she waved a cab. It pulled over, she pulled me to it.
“Where to?”
“1623 Broad.”
Her voice was heavenly, but I had no time to evaluate. We were going at it hot and heavy in the cab. She panted and kissed as I kissed and fondled. She guided my hand down her pants, and let out sounds that echoed pleasure. The cabbie repeatedly glanced in the rearview, and almost drove off the road several times.
We finally arrived at her place. She paid. We went in. It was a nice older home in a decent neighborhood. She led me upstairs and into a bedroom. She locked the door behind us, then began peeling the leather clothing from her sweaty, hot body. I took my clothes off too, watching her the whole time.
Her body was way more amazing than I thought it would be. Her curves were perfect, as were her hips. Her legs were maddeningly hot. We kissed while we stood naked, but gradually made our way to the bed. The foreplay was amazing, but the sex was brain melting, round after round. Hours rolled by like minutes. Orgasms broke the otherwise dead night. She was far better than I thought possible. After long sessions, she passed out. Shortly thereafter, I passed out too.
The next thing I remember was that of a baby crying. I thought I was dreaming. Then there were sounds of young children playing, crying, and yelling. A middle aged woman could then be heard bitching in a foreign language. Pots and pans clanged. I was waking up alone in bed, but where was I?
I waited and pretended to still be sleeping. Surely the red head would be back. No one would leave me like this. I felt like death. Minutes rolled on, then an hour rolled on. Ninety minutes followed quickly. I had to piss and have water. I slowly and quietly got up. I slowly dressed, then slowly opened the bedroom door. It was clear. I snuck out and looked for a bathroom.
Three doors down I found one. I was grateful to lock the door behind me, and take care of business. As I washed my face with cold water, I tried to remember the paths to escape through the front door. Suddenly there was a knock at the door.
A childs’ voice was heard; “Come on! I have to go!”
What else could I do but walk out acting as if was supposed to be there? So that’s what I did. I walked out, and the kid rushed in. He looked at me funny, but had to piss too bad to raise hell. I made best use of my time, and snuck down the stairs. Finally, I was within short running distance of the front door and thus freedom. I was seconds away.
A rasy woman’s voice called out, “Hey sexy! You’re alive!”
It was the red head. She saw my legs coming down the stairs. The middle aged woman said something that sounded mean. The red head told her to shut up.
“Want some coffee, baby?”
Her eyes smiled. She looked great. I wondered about getting her back in bed.
“I’d love some.”
A cup was in my hands in ten seconds. It was awful.
“Come on. I’ll drive you home.”
The older lady cursed. We left. I took the coffee cup.
We got in the car, an old Buick. She drove a block away. She put the car in park.
“We passed out before it got good.”
Suddenly we were kissing and making out. She guided my left hand to her boobs, and my right up her skirt. I slid my finger inside her. She let out a moan.
“That’s it, we are going to your place.”
I lived ten blocks away. We were there in minutes, then went inside. She pulled out a pipe and took a hit. Then she stripped down. I did too.
We went at it intensely. My hangover didn’t matter so much. Round after round, we went at it. We broke for her to smoke up and for me to have a quick drink. The Sunday afternoon went quick. I wanted yet another round, but she stopped me. We lay beside each other, catching our breath.
“If you tell anyone, I’ll kill you.”
“Tell anyone what?”
“Better keep it that way.”
She got dressed and left, saying nothing. I raided my fridge, ate well, and took a twelve hour nap. When I woke, I smiled about the weekend. I was exhausted.
No one I knew believed me. Even those that saw us leave together.
They responded, “No one gets her.”
“Well, someone does.”
“Not you.”
Two weeks later, I saw her at the same club. Our eyes met. She looked away, then turned her back to me. Guys sneered. I drank more, and ended up going home alone.
It was another month before she came over for more sex.
“Sorry about that. I don’t want just any guy thinking he can get me.”
Great. That’s exactly what it would have said.
Well, at least I got mine.

Wednesday, May 19, 2010


I met each of them at a place called Uncle Jimmy’s, one of my favorite hangouts. I was a regular at the time, as it was the warm up bar, where I went for cheap drinks before heading off to a club. It was cheaper that way. While there, I made the rounds. I knew everyone and they knew me. I played pool, drank rum and coke, and smoked cigarettes. I was given great treatment, and treated everyone well.
First I met Rodney. He just wandered in one evening, not being a regular. I, of course, was one of those to be a welcome wagon of sorts, struck up a conversation with him quickly. We talked a while before I floated off to make my rounds. On that night, I ended up skipping more expensive clubs and staying at Uncle Jimmy’s until late.
The place gradually deadened as people left for parties and clubs, until a second wave of those who had gone to clubs, only to either disappointed or not in the mood, returned to the neighborhood bar. Rodney and I had talked for hours, and seemed to be similar in many ways. Around one a.m. a woman came in alone and ordered a drink very close to me. As per “man code,” Rodney shut down and turned his attention elsewhere.
I checked her out. She was not a gorgeous woman. I mean, she did not go as far as many or most in making herself look hot. She seemed more of the natural variety. There was no makeup, she wore jeans and t-shirt, and her hair was undone. Her eyes showed a certain craziness, but didn’t reveal insanity. She was thin with nice curves. I was attracted.
The woman got her drink and stayed beside me. She did not sit down, and didn’t even glance away. We simply noticed each other and seemed to have a connection. Her name was Jenny. She was stone cold sober, but nervous. She had been shutting herself off from life, she said, so she could have career and money, but had grown tired of being alone, so she came to the bar.
Murphy, the bouncer, gave me a look, expressing his hope that I knew what I was getting into. It had been many months since I had been with a woman, so there was no way I’d be able to pass. Jenny and I spoke for maybe ten minutes when she hinted at wanting to go back to my place. I was eager, and did, in fact, have beer in the fridge. We left before even finishing our drinks.
We drank beer back at my place, while sitting on my couch. Jenny got into her philosophies and she nervously drank. I listened and engaged her point by point, all the while I scoped out her body and imagined great sex. Hours rolled on as empty beer cans collected. I kept looking for ways to interject romance or sexy conversation. I kept giving physical signs of being interested, and tried to make moves. None seemed to work.
Finally, I decided to just ask. I can’t remember the exact wordage. Jenny sat silent for a few seconds before a smile broke through.
“Ok. You have to be gentle though. It’s been four years, and I’m probably really tight.”
She wasn’t kidding. It was the tightest I had known. She was loud too, and I know she woke the neighbors. Long story short, Jenny was an amazing lay. Too good, in fact. Within one minute of completing inside her, I was fucking her again. After more than a few rounds, Jenny ubruptly got up, went into my bathroom, and took a shower. By then, it was close to six in the morning. When Jenny came out, she announced that she had to go in order to catch her bus. She did not kiss me goodbye, but thanked me for the beer and the fucks, then left. I crawled into bed and went to sleep. I had to get up for work in four hours. Thankfully, I was no longer drunk.
The next night at Uncle Jimmy’s was a bit unusual. Murphy the bartender looked at me differently, as if to be shocked at my behavior. He didn’t speak to me much. When Rodney came in, he came right up to me.
“Yeah, freak sex is hot. Wish she had sat next to me. I’d have fucked her too.”
“She was good, actually. Made my night. Still took a while to get her in bed though.”
He chuckled. “Crazy Bitches are always good!”
I started to suspect he thought she was crazy to have gone for me over him.
We left the bar shortly after. It was my idea to try to find a more happening place. We walked down the street toward a night club where I was sure I’d get a number or two. Rodney spoke only of his ex girlfriend, which bored me terribly. I took to eying all the hot chicks walking the summer streets, heading for parties or clubs. I wondered which I could possibly get.
As we got closer to the main drag, Rodney stopped suddenly. He stared ahead, tense. We had stopped in the shadows. Ahead were a few women chatting in front of an apartment building. They couldn’t see us. I could barely see them.
“There she is. There’s my ex.”
“Ok. I’m sure she’s very nice.”
“Come on.”
Rodney went into the bushes. I followed for some reason. We stood there. Rodney stared intensely and listened. I stood a few feet away and didn’t. it didn’t seem right to me. Now I was afraid of Rodney. He was a freak. I went over and told him that I didn’t like spying, and that I was leaving. He ignored me and walked up to his ex. I went the other way, back to Uncle Jimmy’s.
Twenty minutes later, Rodney came in. he didn’t get a drink, rather, he wanted to tell me that he went back to his ex. I didn’t believe him. His ex came in to bring him out. Ok, he was right, but I still dislike his spying. To me, it was stalking, and thus wrong.
A half hour later, Jenny came in. She sat down beside me and asked if she could stay the night. I readily agreed, of course, and we left. It was a replay of the night before, except it didn’t take as long to get her in bed. We alternated between drinking and fucking for hours.
Again, around five thirty she showered. Afterward she readied to leave. She didn’t kiss me or give a hug. She stood there, ready to go, but needing to say something. I was tired and wanted her to either go or stay and sleep.
“You probably already know I am married, so I don’t need to tell you.”
I was suddenly awake.
“Married?! Umm..”
“Yes. Married, suburban life, regular job, day care, dull, boring, walking dead.”
“Umm.. Ok. And your husband is ok with..”
She laughed.
“Of course not, stupid! If he knew, he’d kill us both.”
“Won’t he find out? You’re going home at six a.m.”
“He works nights. It’s ok.”
Jenny walked out. I went to bed, suddenly uncomfortable with freak sex. The next time I saw Jenny, I broke off the affair. I was such a fool back then.

two texans

I had been in the city for just a few months, but had already discovered many great hangouts. It was the first time I had lived in a city, or had even visited one for that matter, so every day was thrilling to me. I had never seen such a culture of abundance and abandon. Incredibly attractive women were everywhere, and easy to approach. Beer and liquor were the steady diets of most inhabitants. Parties filled every block. Clubs were packed, bars were busy, and a simple walk down the street brought a contact high.
The summer heat brought things to fever pitch. The energies were amazing. One couldn’t help but get drawn in. One night, it was clubs with sexy women, driving music, and cheap beer, followed by an after hours party on a rooftop of an apartment building. The next night was a crowded bar with great live music, followed by a rowdy party in a nearby apartment. Still another was an all night party at a house across the street .There were no limits.
Being new to the city was no issue. There seemed to be a code amongst drunks; they, no we, talked to everyone. The only drunken strangers are those who chose to be, and even they had to walk away from us drunks who tried to converse with them. Even parties that were in private places were easy to get in. I would just bring a cheap pizza and walk right in the door. No one will turn away a pizza, especially when drunk.
On this particular night, I had checked out a few places after drinking too much at my apartment. They were all dull, with only hardened, older drunks who cared more about drinking than partying. I decided to check out a place I knew would be happening. It was legendary for wildness, and held quite the legacy for rowdy rock and roll, not to mention an abundance of incredibly beautiful women.
The night was all too hot and very humid, with the overnight low of eighty three. The moon was nearly full, and helped light the darker areas of the city. Hot young chicks passed by while gabbing about nonsense to other hot young chicks. They were clearly students at the university too.
As I neared the place the music got louder and louder. It would be a wild one for sure! When I got to the bar, there was a long line, as bouncers were checking for underage drinkers. Before long, two skinny guys in cowboy hats got in line behind me. Actually, I heard their drawl before I saw them. The people in front of me were three guys and two women, obviously all together. I could see the two women were with two of the guys, and they were a closed clique. Nonetheless, I stole glances at the women, especially their beautiful legs and asses.
The guys behind me in those awful hats saw I was alone, and sensed a chance to talk with someone. No harm there. They explained that they were from Texas (there’s a surprise), and were in town for a visit. They wanted a wild time, and were asking about where the best places were. I explained that I had come up empty that night, and so that bar was the best bet. Then I warned them that the place can get pretty wild.
They stood there with wide eyes. The larger one told the other that he wasn’t sure about going in there, that a couple Texans in the big city might not fare well. I chuckled and said adventure is a good thing, and if they wanted dull, there were other places that could accommodate. The smaller Texan reassured, adding that they only get one night to be in a city. I found myself feeling bad for them, but glad I finally was living in a city. I was actually better off than someone!
Eventually we all made it inside, and it was a hell of scene. Women wore revealing clothes and moved with high levels of sexuality. Men tried to look tough, but revealed deep insecurities all too apparently. The music was loud and rowdy, and high energies ran rampid. Oddly, there wasn’t much of a line to get beer, though. It was as though everyone was broke, somehow, and was farming every sip. I grabbed two beers for myself and went to check opportunities to meet women. I doubted I would get to, as they all seemed to be with someone.
I took to enjoying the music, absorbing the energies, and making light conversation with whoever I came across. I did speak with a few women who came over to me, but that was ended when their boyfriends came over to round them up while giving me the evil eye. Not much else was going on, and I was feeling like an outsider for the first time since I first moved to the city.
Eventually, the two Texans showed up. They had decided to stay close to the only person the “knew.” Great. There would be no meeting chicks or even finding new people to converse with. The two Texans were too scared to talk with anyone else. They chose me because I was backwoods enough to put them at ease. I tried to make conversation with others, and include the Texans. Neither side was interested. The Texans were only into comparing everything with Texas. Like I gave a fuck about how things were in Texas!
The night rolled on. I enjoyed the music, but nothing else was developing. The Texans continued rambling and insisting I hear every line of bullshit and everything they found amusing. Then they interrupted when I tried to talk with a hot blond woman who seemed interested just to say that one of them had to use the restroom. It wasn’t that I thought I’d get her, necessarily, but it’s always good to seem like one is happening enough to converse with beautiful women. It helps the image, not to mention providing masturbation material later. I was getting pissed.
When I finished my second beer, I decided to leave, partly to get rid of the Texans. I made the mistake of telling them I was going. They followed. I thought I might be able to convince them to buy beer and follow me to find a party somewhere, but they didn’t want to spend the money.
As we reached the door, the smaller one declared he had to use the bathroom and disappeared through the crowd. The larger one stood there looking stupid with that damn hat and saying nothing. We were just at the edge of the crowd, so I stole glances at hot feminine legs to distract from the bad night. The band played on. The place was packed and rowdy.
A woman I hadn’t seen tapped me on the shoulder and spoke. I couldn’t hear her. She leaned in close. Her sexy voice gave me a hard on.
“Who is that? Why does he have a fucking cowboy hat on?”
“Oh, him? He’s one of the village people.”
I meant it as a joke.
Instead of laughing, she told her friends ahead of us. They told more people. Word spread rapidly. The next thing I knew, the Texan was being lifted up by the crowd. They carried him on a wave toward the stage. The terrified Texan yelled, kicked, and screamed, but it was drown out by chants of “YMCA, YMCA!” They put the man on the stage. The singer of the band came over and put his arm around him, while continuing to sing, as the crowd continued to chant “YMCA YMCA!” the Texan stood frozen with a bright red face.
The other Texan came out, ready to leave.
“Whoa. We gotta wait for your friend.”
“Where is he?”
I motioned to the stage. He froze too. His face was almost as red.
The song ended, and the singer shook the Texan’s hand, then motioned for him to get off the stage. As he left and hurried through the crowd, chants of “YMCA” were stronger than ever. When he reached us, he just rushed out the door. The other Texan rushed to keep up. I left slowly, hoping they’d leave. They waited half a block away.
“Thanks for showing us around. We gotta go now. Nice to meet you.”
“Sure. Take care. Enjoy your trip.
They were so shaken that I felt guilty. Then again, it was probably the most memorable night they’ll ever have in their lives. The thought saddened me terribly. I stopped at a quiet bar and bought a six pack, then went home to put my past behind me.

Tuesday, May 18, 2010

low enough

You turn on the tv to provide a distraction
from your worries.
There is no need to further obsess
over the mounting unpayable bills
when you have no money

Or stress over the waste
of having paid tens of thousands for a degree,
just as an economic depression hit.

You need a break from
the wasting away of your being
or the rotting away
of a body so worn from struggle.

The movie on tv is about affluent tv producers
Bringing in more money
than three fourths of the country

They flaunt their attractive bodies under
tight fitting, overpriced clothes
and sip expensive drinks
at expensive clubs
with other affluent, attractive people.

They wine and cry
about not being about to find the perfect mate
So they climb in and out of beds
with really attractive, affluent people
with similar whines.

All this does is remind you how low you are.
Turn the tv off, grab the wine, and chug.
Enough wine will make sleep easier.
Going to be a long day tomorrow.

low enough

You turn on the tv to provide a distraction
from your worries.
There is no need to further obsess
over the mounting unpayable bills
when you have no money

Or stress over the waste
of having paid tens of thousands for a degree,
just as an economic depression hit.

You need a break from
the wasting away of your being
or the rotting away
of a body so worn from struggle.

The movie on tv is about affluent tv producers
Bringing in more money
than three fourths of the country

They flaunt their attractive bodies under
tight fitting, overpriced clothes
and sip expensive drinks
at expensive clubs
with other affluent, attractive people.

They wine and cry
about not being about to find the perfect mate
So they climb in and out of beds
with really attractive, affluent people
with similar whines.

All this does is remind you how low you are.
Turn the tv off, grab the wine, and chug.
Enough wine will make sleep easier.
Going to be a long day tomorrow.

what's their hurry?

Some seem to spend an awful lot of life preparing for,
wondering about, fearing, or otherwise thinking about death.
Waste, waste, waste.

Reading about serial killers, studying battles.
Reading crime novels, watching murder on tv,
Thrill, thrill, thrill.

Making wills, buying burial plots, saving for
or insuring for their funeral, debating cremation,
Plan, plan, plan.

Fantasizing about having had many lives and many deaths,
Who they were centuries ago, always grand
Dream, dream, dream

Fearing God and giving blindly to anyone who says “Jesus,”
Believing Dante or voting in the Republicans (which rushes the death of the whole of civilation),
Fear, fear, fear

Or throwing themselves off bridges, taking poison.
Positioning the gun just right

What’s their hurry?
Hasn’t death won enough already?


Scientists that has access to all levels of research
done for decades or even centuries
to test and test and retest and retest
proving this and that
building on knowledge and advances
Marching society ever further and faster
than the now proven evolution
those that we all owe so much to
in our daily lives

Yet, on tv and radio
they are reduced to begging people to understand
varying dangers from climate change to food safety
They sit opposed to quacks
with narrow and incorrect views of the bible

The tv and radio shows treat them as equals
instead of the opposites they are;
The Sane vs the stupid

Saturday, May 15, 2010

inspiring poem by Bukowski

so you want to be a writer?
by Charles Bukowski

if it doesn't come bursting out of you
in spite of everything,
don't do it.
unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don't do it.
if you have to sit for hours
staring at your computer screen
or hunched over your
searching for words,
don't do it.
if you're doing it for money or
don't do it.
if you're doing it because you want
women in your bed,
don't do it.
if you have to sit there and
rewrite it again and again,
don't do it.
if it's hard work just thinking about doing it,
don't do it.
if you're trying to write like somebody
forget about it.

if you have to wait for it to roar out of
then wait patiently.
if it never does roar out of you,
do something else.

if you first have to read it to your wife
or your girlfriend or your boyfriend
or your parents or to anybody at all,
you're not ready.

don't be like so many writers,
don't be like so many thousands of
people who call themselves writers,
don't be dull and boring and
pretentious, don't be consumed with self-
the libraries of the world have
yawned themselves to
over your kind.
don't add to that.
don't do it.
unless it comes out of
your soul like a rocket,
unless being still would
drive you to madness or
suicide or murder,
don't do it.
unless the sun inside you is
burning your gut,
don't do it.

when it is truly time,
and if you have been chosen,
it will do it by
itself and it will keep on doing it
until you die or it dies in you.

there is no other way.

and there never was.

Monday, May 10, 2010

such days

The job was a popularity contest conducted by the tough guys. To be in the contest, one had to be physically large, powerful, and have endured a lot of physical punishment in their lives. They had a certain brotherhood. The rest of us were second rate because we were smaller. The bigger guys in the brotherhood took turns to see who could be the meanest to the smaller guys. Those who were not mean enough were out of the brotherhood. Few made the decision to exclude themselves from such membership. They didn’t last long with the company.
Exceptions to the less than huge being bullied were the few who had reputations for being either crazy or tough enough to do damage. They were largely left alone. I was one of them. This was due to a party some months prior at which a coked up nut job pointed a gun in my face over his girlfriend. I sat there coldly staring at death without blinking while the gunman raged. Unable to strike the fear of death in me, he got frustrated and left without firing a shot. One guy at the jobsite, Jason, knew of this, and told the others to leave me alone. More than a few doubted Jason on this, as they saw nothing to warrant caution.
Uneasy weeks rolled on as we all worked in the blazing sun on the remodeling site. I saw smaller guy after smaller guy come and go quickly. It happened like clockwork. The guy would start on a Monday, get bullied and harassed all day, be intimidated to where he doubted himself and feared getting a beating, and quit by Tuesday or Wednesday. The few that mouthed off would be beaten. I kept to myself.
Jason called off one day, due to his three year old being sick. Doug was the biggest and meanest guy there. He hated Jason, but didn’t dare challenge him dead on. Instead, he decided to take me on when Jason was absent, to prove Jason wrong and boost his status.
First Doug began belittling my work. I was a mix of gofer and hammer swinger, known for speed, not for power. I worked feverishly. It was my style, and all I had. It wasn’t enough for Doug, or so he pretended. He barked, I hustled. Part of the reason I did was it was early and I wasn’t yet fully awake. As I grew more awake, I grew angrier at Doug. The others in the brotherhood stayed quiet. I thought they knew something.
Finally lunchtime arrived. I was famished. The brotherhood headed off to eat huge amounts of food and tell each other how tough they were. The other guys left in trucks to get burgers. I was broke, so I sat off to the side and ate my sandwhiches and smoked. I heard the brotherhood hooping and hollering. Deep laughter filled the remodeling site.
The other smaller guys weren’t yet back from the burger joint when the brotherhood decided work was to begin. The foreman was usually gone from the site, but was known to watch from a distance to keep an eye on things. He hadn’t been on the site all day, so the brotherhood was in charge.
Doug called to me. His tone was stern.
“You, little shit, go over to the pile of rocks and smooth them over. The landscapers need to work there this afternoon. Start with the larger rocks near the back of the garage. No, first, get that log out of there. Toss it in the woods. Hurry it the fuck up! Come on, get moving!”
I walked over to the garage. There were sizable rocks there, but I didn’t know why they should be moved. The log, I could understand though. The brotherhood had been near there for lunch, so they probably saw the area as an eye sore and decided I should clean it up. I didn’t care, as I got paid the same no matter what.
I came to the log, and hurriedly lifted one end to begin tossing it away. The log came up easily. It was dried out and weighed even less than I thought. I tossed it, and then heard the worst sound one can hear from a log; loud buzzing!
A cloud of really pissed off yellow jackets rose from nowhere. I turned and ran, full sprint. The brotherhood laughed in the distance. A few wasps got me. I ran faster. The brotherhood laughed harder. The buzzing grew louder. I ran even faster. The sound of laughter grew louder and louder.
They didn’t realize I was running right at them. By the time that reality set in, it was too late. They yelled
“NO! NO! Run the other way!”
Not a chance in hell. I ran right at the brotherhood, in full sprint. The fat fuckers couldn’t accelerate, and the bees needed a good target. I would bring them one. It was me or the brotherhood, and you just knew who it’d be!
I made sure to pass Doug first, and delighted in hearing him cuss as the cloud of wasps engulfed him. I was being stung less and less as I heard the brotherhood yelp more and more. Before I knew it, no wasps were chasing me.
When I had tired of running and was sure no more bees were coming, I stopped and watched the aftermath. The brotherhood and the laughter could not be found or heard. A pickup came driving down the lane. The driver was laughing hysterically. The passenger was the foreman. The truck stopped and the drivers’ window rolled down.
“Are you ok, son?” He hardly held his snicker.
“yeah, I only got ten stings or so.”
“Let me introduce myself. I’m Dan. I own the company.”
“Oh, nice to meet you.”
“That was the gawddamned funniest thing I ever saw! You really turned it on them! Hilarious! Hop on back, we’ll give you a ride.”
I hopped in the back of the truck and we made our way down to the site. Members of the brotherhood meandered everywhere. Big red spots covered their bodies. Dan and the foreman laughed and laughed. I didn’t dare.
An angry Doug approached, giving me the evil eye.
“That fucker! He ran toward us deliberately! Did you see…”
“Yeah, I saw the whole thing. We were sitting up there watching to see what you guys were up to. We saw it ALL.”
Doug turned and walked away. A few of the other members of the brotherhood snickered, even as they had been stung too. Dan announced that the day was over because of the bee attack. The brotherhood piled into trucks. Dan gave me my day’s wage and added a hundred bucks, saying it was worth it for the entertainment, and gave me a ride to the bus stop. As he dropped me off, Dan advised me to not come back. The brotherhood would not take kindly to the bee thing. Then he gave me another hundred and bid me good luck.
I rode the bus to the first bar, and got off. I needed some drink to counter the bee stings. Alcohol was invented for such days.


muted television gleaming light
of tired ideas that still bring profit

blank computer screen awaiting brilliance
only to be filled with jibberish

newly formed couple whose footsteps echo in silence
to bring lifetimes of agony

new memories waiting to be filled
and more regrets to pile

new sunrise bringing a new day
of burning through more money

so much wasted potential
so much wasted life
but only when considering alternatives

Saturday, May 1, 2010

The Accord

The alarm went off at five thirty in the evening. I hit the snooze button, stretched out, and lay there looking at the alarm clock. I tried to focus on the number to get the haze out of my eyes, and awaken my intellect. Why was the alarm set for five thirty? Gradually it came to me; my girlfriend had free tickets to a concert and invited me to go with her and a couple of her friends. I tried to remember what time I had to be ready. I knew it was earlier than normal, as per the concert. She was usually to my place around seven thirty on Saturday nights. Oh shit! Was I to be ready by six?!
I jumped up in a panic. I just take short naps on Saturdays after my part time job, because the start time is much earlier than my full time job. I had to shower, shave, and be drunk enough to not spend too much at the Tacoma Dome! I grabbed what was left of the box wine and rushed into the bathroom. I took off my clothes and got into the shower with the box wine. I lifted the box up, put the nozzle to my mouth, and turned it. The wine trickled down my throat for thirty seconds straight. One more tilt for good measure. I grabbed a quick shower and hopped out. I quickly dried off, got dressed, and poured a glass of wine. Then I found my pack of smokes. There were just two left. Fuck! I’d have to get more before the concert.
I texted Zantha to ask when they were picking me up. There was no response. I drank more wine and finished my smoke. Still no word. The window was open and she always parks right in front of my window. I could always tell when she arrived. I sat drinking the wine rapidly. I’d never been to a major concert before, and so I was excited. Around six thirty she texted that they were on the way. I responded about the smokes, that we needed to stop at the bottom of the hill. I refilled my glass and lit my last smoke. Twenty minutes later she texted back, saying I should walk down the hill and buy the smokes. They’d pick me up near the main road to the freeway.
I poured my wine into a Styrofoam cup and headed down the hill. It was a bright and beautiful day, and plenty of attractive women were everywhere and wore revealing clothes. I walked quickly but carefully as I sipped my wine. In three minutes, I was at the store. I dropped the cup in the trash, rushed in, bought two packs of smokes, and rushed out. I quickly lit a smoke once outside, and rushed toward the main drag. A white Accord swerved in front of me, and I saw Zantha in the back. I rushed over to the other back door, dropping my smoke on the way.
“Hi Beautiful!”
I leaned over and kissed her. She tasted like vodka, a taste I am rather fond of. Her top was so very nice, as it revealed her great breasts and wonderous curves. Her skirt flowed beautifully, and suggested the prizes that were hidden underneath. Her long hair flowed magically, and accented an expression of fun and mischief. A devilish grin capped a perfect start to a great evening.
In the passenger seat sat Dora, Zantha’s close friend. She was excited too, sitting there in more conservative clothes. She was all smiles and laughs, and conveyed a great evening that sat ahead. The driver was a friend of Zantha’s that I hadn’t met, Chad. His hair was very short. He appeared very straight laced, but drove aggressively and seemed to be trying very hard to seem like a happening dude. I faced the outside window to roll my eyes without being noticed.
Zantha pulled out a bottle of lemon lime soda and took a big gulp, then passed it to me. It was mostly vodka. I took a big gulp. The vodka burned so very well. Then she handed it to Dora. After Dora took several gulps, it came back to Zantha. Chad didn’t drink. Ever. My old boss told me to never trust anyone who didn’t drink. I was about to find out why.
Chad couldn’t drive. He veered in and out of lanes on the busy freeway and rode bumpers all the way south. If someone had treated me that way on the freeway, I’d have kicked their ass. He complained that we would miss the opening act, even as his ticket was free. I struggled to hear him, but every time I did, I wished I hadn’t.
After a while, Zantha asked him about his going on E harmony to find himself a woman. He responded enthusiastically. Just to see what I was dealing with, I pointed out that e harmony was headed by a radical religious man who hated gays and tried to indoctrinate people. As I somehow knew he would, Chad asserted that all marriage is Christian. Sigh. I argued, he argued. The two women shut down the debate before it started. I chugged more vodka. We rolled on.
As predicted, Chad got lost. We asked directions, and they helped. We arrived near the Dome, parked, and rushed to make a train to the Dome. The train came, we got on, and the packed train rolled to within blocks of the Dome. We rushed to the dome as I smoked. We got in quickly, tracked down our seats, and settled in, just in time for a few more sets before a break in the music.
The Dome was huge! Mountains and valleys of people filled from end to end. There were older people, teenagers, and all in between. Many brought young children, which was appalling. There were many attractive women, but few to none had a body like Zantha. Her ass would make any guy drool!
The stage seemed tiny from where we sat. I grew bored with the rap group that was on stage, so I offered to get Zantha and me a cup of wine. She nodded agreement, and I went out to the stand. The older plump woman behind the stand asserted that I could only buy one cup of wine at a time, so they could ensure that no one underage got alcohol. I bought one cup and returned to Zantha and her ass.
We made short work of the cup. I would have gone back for more wine, but Zantha was dancing, and her hot ass was wriggling right in front of me. That was better than wine, so I sat there watching. The music ended a bit too early though, so we all piled out to get wine. Chad took off to scout chicks. Who knows, I thought, maybe he’ll meet someone as fake and stupid as he is. God knows there are plenty out there.
The three of us stood in line. Dora asked Zantha were the hell she found that guy. Those were my sentiments exactly. Dora was doing my work. Zantha told a rather lame story, the issue died out a bit. Before long, we ordered wine and returned to our seats for the main act. I finished my wine and got another cup before the show began. Chad was nowhere to be found. Maybe someone else got annoyed by him and was less kind than I was. I smiled about the possibility until I realized there was no ride home if something did happen to him. The music started. It was pretty catchy, and I found myself dancing with Zantha instead of watching her hot ass. Around the fourth song, Chad showed up. Shit.
I grabbed another cup of wine, then another. By then I was really into everything and having a great time, with one exception. I needed to smoke. I asked the old women at the wine stand where I could smoke. They began telling stories about when there were areas to smoke. That didn’t do me any good at all. I asked the young janitor. He advised me to smoke in the bathroom. I decided to hold it. Surely the concert can’t last that long.
Twenty minutes later, I had to smoke. I told Zantha about the whole thing, and that I was gonna smoke in the bathroom. She nodded, and said to text if I got kicked out. I walked to the bathroom. There was no one in there. I lit up a smoke and inhaled. Ahhhh! I smoked as fast as I could. The cigarette was almost done when a loud knock struck the stall door.
“Come on out! Open up! Now!”
I tossed the smoke in the toilet and flushed. I opened the door. There stood two fat security guards. They were pissed.
“Why’d you do it?! Why you smoking in the bathroom? Where’s your ticket? Come on. Outside!”
We walked out the door and stood in the hallway. There was a considerable crowd. The loudest security guard was the fattest. He held a full, but open bottle of beer, and waved it at me as he scolded.
“Come on, tell me why you did it. You knew goddamned well you can’t smoke in the bathroom. Why’d you do it?”
“There’s nowhere else to smoke. I looked everywhere.”
“Ok, that’s it! Where’s your ticket?”
“In my coat, on my seat, beside my girlfriend.” I interrupted.
“Ok, motherfucker, let’s go get your coat and your ticket! You gonna be a tough smart ass, I’m throwing your ass out! Where’s your fucking ticket?!”
As he yelled that, he waved the beer bottle at me a few times too many. I realized I could stun them by taking the beer. That thought was all I needed. I grabbed the beer from his hand and ran through the crowd. It was like defensive linemen chasing Barry Sanders. They were too fat to get through the crowd. My thin body went right through. In ten seconds, I lost them. When I reached another section, I went in, climbed thirty feet of stairs to the top. I took a moment to catch my breath, and then chugged the bottle. I sat the now empty bottle down and calmly weaved my way back to my seat.
Zantha was still dancing. Sweat was rolling off her. I sat down for a while and watched that hot ass again. Then I got up and danced. I wanted another cup of wine, but was afraid of being kicked out, so I just danced. Before I knew it, the concert was over, and people were spilling out. I told Zantha what happened with security, but I doubt she believed me.
Eventually we made it outside, and I lit a smoke. We hustled down the street, as Chad excitedly rambled about nothing to anyone who’d listen. It was actually a little entertaining at that point. Maybe I was wrong about him. After all, Zantha had seen something in him. What that might have been was anyone’s guess.
When we had parked, I remembered it to have been north. I was sure of it. Chad insisted we board the south train. I questioned him.
“Does it loop around, then? We are parked north. This train goes south.”
“No. It doesn’t loop at all. It’s the right direction.” He scoffed.
“But we are parked up there.”
“It doesn’t loop. It’s the right train.”
He walked away, scoffing like a ten year old.
“Ok, Zantha. I don’t know this town that well. I hope he knows where he’s going.”
I needed wine and more smokes. Ideally we could go to a decent restaurant for ok food and decent wine, and where I could smoke outside. The train arrived, heading south. We piled on the crowded craft, and went south. I watched intently. We travelled south four blocks, and LOOPED AROUND. We were heading north within minutes. I caught Zantha’s eye, and shook my head. I leaned down and whispered.
“Can’t get a straight answer from that guy.”
We arrived at our station, finally, and got off the train. Chad skipped ahead, prancing and singing. I calculated the time until we either arrived at my place or at a restaurant. I needed wine and smoke, and was getting hungry, not to mention annoyed at Chad. He was like an eight year old, and yet propped himself up as being charge. I was sickened, but tried to remain positive for fear of ruining the evening. Besides, in short order, Zantha would be at my place, drinking wine and laughing. It would all be alright.
We piled in Chad’s Accord and took off. Immediately Chad put on bad rap music and energetically danced and sang. Then he cranked it up to ear piercing levels. The lyrics sucked. If I had a dime for every time they said “Ho,” “Whore,” or Bitch,” I’d have retired. Chad skipped songs, and pointed out all the ones he wanted us to think were his faves. He had a captive audience, and showed no mercy. He drove erratically and talked tough. I rolled my eyes as he show cased himself as the cock of the walk.
Any other situation with anyone else, and I’d have either told him to shut up or actually smacked him, but this was Zantha’s friend. I calculated how long the torture would last. It was just too long. I turned my attention to Zantha, kissing and licking her shoulder. Chad angrily turned on the dome light, and my eyes felt punched.
I faced away from Zantha to hide my expression of sheer hatred. My anger was boiling! It was alarmingly close to my punching Chad right where he sat. That piece of fucking shit pulls that?! It took everything I had to not hit the fucker right then and there. I resolved this only by promising myself that I would someday get to beat the shit out of him, when Zantha wouldn’t know about it.
The torture continued. I kept quiet, for fear of showing my anger. Chad kept showcasing himself; what he liked, what he thought, the music that moved him, where he liked to eat, the time he dared to lick someone’s nipple in public (but it was dark, you see?). On and on and on. Dora and Zantha laughed at many things he said. I was ready to puke.
Then they talked of going to a restaurant. FUCK! Don’t get me wrong, I was hungry too, but enough was enough. I mentioned to Zantha that we could go to my place, with the intention of the two of us going somewhere decent. She declined, stating that she was very hungry. I was stuck.
Chad exited the freeway, and took the longest route possible to restaurants in the international district. HIS fave restaurants were there, he claimed. Finally he parked the car. We piled out and began searching for a place to eat. Chad was pointing to his “faves,” and relating stories to each place. None were believable. I could feel the scowl on my face, so I kept quiet.
Finally they picked a Chinese place. We went in, and I could see it was a bad restaurant. Then again, I thought it was my mood, so I got up from my seat right away, and went to smoke and reset my mood. I walked outside and lit a cigarette. The area was a shithole, and angry homeless guys were everywhere. I knew them well, and knew better than to be in such an area. Nonetheless, they were better company than Chad.
A guy came up and demanded a cigarette.
“Sorry. Had to bum this one.”
“Oh, I see. It’s because I’m black. You’d give one to a white guy..”
“Don’t pull that with me. I had to bum this one. I don’t have any more.”
He grabbed the cigarette and ran off. Fuck! Now I had to face Chad. Fuck! I walked in and went to the table. The three of them sat looking at menus. There was no menu for me. Great. I sat down and tried to reset my mood. I wondered if someone might notice I had no menu. No one did. I looked off Dora’s, reading upside down and making a point of it. The wait staff was too busy for me to get their attention. Anyway, cashew chicken is usually a good bet.
The waiter came over and we ordered. I was amazed Chad allowed the ladies to order first. How noble. Immediately after the orders went in, Chad began yacking about himself. Ugh! As the other three of us grew silent, Chad made a plea;
“You two have each other, and Dora has someone to go home to. I have no one. This is it for me.”
If he were capable of conversing and not being an asshole, the plea would have worked. Then again, if that were the case, I wouldn’t have wanted to hit him as badly as I did. Who knows, it might have been a good time. However, there we were, a captive audience for the likes and character of Chad, endless, merciless. I regretted my own birth in those hours.
The food arrived and it sucked, just as I knew it would. There went thirty five dollars that could have been used for food that didn’t taste like wet laundry. I shoveled the cashew chicken, so as to not notice the blandness and terrible texture. Dora stared at hers, as in holding a disbelief as to how bad it was. Zantha ate heavily, as hers was obviously ok. Chad slowly ate at a heaping pile, being sure to drag it out as long as was humanly possible. Fuck!
I finished and went to smoke. By then I was so fucked off that I hoped the fucker that stole my cigarette came by looking for trouble. I was going to kick his ass. He didn’t though, and I finished that one without incident. After finishing the smoke, I stood outside for a while longer. There was no need to hurry back to listen to Chad showcase himself.
When I did go back, he was still taking his time eating and running his mouth. I showed pure exacerbation. I couldn’t hold it back. Zantha saw it purely. Dora saw it too. I was pissed! When the waiter came over to try to sell dessert, etc., I interrupted and asked for the check. Chad had a mouthful, and so couldn’t object. The check arrived, and I plopped money on the tray for meals for me and Zantha. Dora had her card ready. Chad sat there eating and talking and talking and talking. If looks could kill, I’d be in prison for murder.
Finally at long last, Chad finished eating! Yes! He plopped down cash. The waiter was fast, thank god, and we were cleared for takeoff. My spirits rose at the thought of the torture ending. I don’t live that far away, after all. The motley foursome finally left the restaurant and piled in the Accord. Immediately, the bad rap played, and Chad danced as he drove. At least the car was moving though.
Then my hopes were slaughtered. I should have expected it though. Chad drove through the busiest, slowest sections of the city. It was near two, closing time, and traffic sucked. People who had been in pleasant company all evening were piling out of the bars. Chad pointed to all the bars and made up stories about each one, usually about hot chicks he met in the bar, and what they did. The Accord crawled among the traffic as he bragged about the chicks he did while the rap songs spoke of “Ho’s.”
As nicely as I could muster, I spoke up;
“It’s easiest to turn right on Broad.”
Chad scowled in the rearview. He repeated his earlier plea;
“You two have each other, Dora has someone at home. I have no one.”
I bit my tongue to keep from saying “No wonder.” Chad didn’t miss a beat, going right back to reliving fantasies about chicks in those bars. When he passed Broad Street, I silently pointed. Zantha nicely pointed out that we missed Broad Street. Chad huffed;
“Ugh! I am heading up Mercer! The way we came is fast too, and we get to see more bars.”
Zantha slouched, I tried to bury my scowl, and took long deep breaths. I really wanted to beat the shit out of him! The Accord was quiet, except for Chad, of course. We made our way onto fifth eventually, and I sat up to give directions to my apartment. I spoke in direct, no bullshit tones, barely hiding my hatred of dork.
“Straight up the hill. Keep straight.”
“Turn right at the next light. Turn left at this street”
Finally, at long, long, long, long, long, long, long last, the Accord pulled into my parking lot and stopped. I jumped out and was to Zantha’s side in a fraction of a second. Zantha hugged Chad. It’s a good thing she did, as I had been seriously considering punching him.
We made into my place. Zantha sat down. I began opening a bottle of wine. Neither said anything. I poured her a glass, then poured myself one. I drank the glass down in five seconds and refilled. She sat there half dazed.
“THAT will never happen again.”
Zantha look at me in a confused daze.
“I will never be around that piece of shit ever again, Zantha. Sorry, but your friend is shit.”
“I know he’s self absorbed, but I had no idea you hated him.”
“Are you kidding? Who could stand him? How did you stand him?”
In falsetto, I replayed his words, “You two have each other and Dora had someone waiting at home. I have no one… Yeah, maybe if he could CONVERSE, but fuck!”
She chuckled. I knew I had her there. I went on to make fun of him for an hour and a bottle of wine. Then we crawled into bed and had great sex before she fell asleep. I stayed up drinking for a while longer and wanted to kick Chad’s ass. I still do.

Wednesday, March 31, 2010

Tuesday, March 30, 2010


On the table
sit two glasses

Unfinished gulps of wine
last of the night

Tv off, one light remains

Angelic body under covers
Curves and flowing hair

Awkward creature standing
alone. puffs of smoke

tries to keep away
from the smoke detector

chugging down the last
of the wine then refills

stealing glances
of the gorgeous curves
that the covers hug

savoring the moment

longing for the night
to continue