Ten cent lovers
Beneath the covers.
Riding on a wet dream
Silver tonic free.
Standing naked except for his sandals, he was at the bar in someone else's house overlooking the warm Atlantic. He listened as she explained from her mammoth beanbag how to make the drink. "Pour some of that Captain Morgan Silver Spiced Rum in a glass and put enough tonic water in there until it tastes like I'd like it. Then put a lime wedge on it and tell me you liked the way I sucked your dick."
It had always bothered him when women started talking like that when he didn't really know them. In fact, he'd prefer that women never talked like that, even if he knew them quite well. Salty language fits sailors well and awkwardly suits any potential mother.
He'd met Shelby two nights ago at a beach party where she'd been drunk enough to go home with a stranger, and no one felt stranger than him these days.
High stool sweet tarts
Equipped with green cards,
Chomp their 401-k's.
A hasty decision to drop out of a very prestigious college when he only had one more semester to go to get that engineering degree? This was the act of a madman, and the madman was looking out across the water now as he sampled the free Silver Tonic to see if she'd like it. He'd tossed his cell phone in the ocean yesterday and he wasn't even drunk. Something was happening to him and he'd finally decided to let it happen. He didn't want people he knew calling him and asking what that thing was.
The wave was breaking hard out there through the picture window, and he could feel the way it must be to ride one of those waves. To just give in and forget about balance. To assume you were capable of staying afloat regardless of twists and turns and all sorts of weather.
Digging in Las Cruces
For an army drab container.
Carbon dating clothes for
The last time they were washed.
Shelby was becoming impatient while he indulged his introspection through her husband's windows. "Get your fucking finger out of my drink and bring it here, please."
He sandal-slid over the shag rug to the beanbag and handed her breakfast to her. When he leaned over and caught a downward glimpse of his likewise downward and obviously uninterested appendage, being naked didn't seem like a sexy idea any longer. "I'm gonna go put some clothes on. I think maybe I should be heading out now."
The doorbell rang as he was making his way to the bedroom. When he closed the door, he could hear Shelby squealing like it was a teen sleepover with some other girl. He heard his name mentioned. He thought about escaping out the window and going down to the beach to try and find his cell phone, but decided against. No coward, he. Not in this new personae. He put on his cutoffs and a wifebeater and went back to the bar to get himself some sort of red drink.
Shelby and Sheila.
Catch hang nail on Banlon;
Shiver Martin Sheen.
"This is Sheila," Shelby said with a lime rind stuck between her two front teeth. "She's horny and high."
He had to admit, he did like the looks of this new Sheila. She had knobby knees on otherwise perfect gams, and she had blonde hair and black eyebrows. This always interested him. The two girls stood there, arms around, looking at him as he put too much Tabasco in his bloody Mary. He wondered what you added to a drink to tone down the heat. Sugar? Water? More vodka? He settled on more vodka and an extra stalk of celery.
Sheila spoke up. "How long have you been staying at Chateau Shelby?"
Are fire bombing Dresden
Stanton, Harry Dean.
This was what the self-help folks would call a defining moment in his life. He was one remark away from a threesome with these two airhead broads who were both living in Fat City with guys who should have had (at least) a faint clue what their women were doing while they were at work. Either they didn't or they didn't care. Regardless, that had very little to do with his feelings of self-worth. A guy in the middle of some sort of life crisis or a man-toy for bored rich girls? Life crisis sounded more along the lines of someone who'd mix a bloody Mary so spicy that he couldn't even drink it.
Feeding line caught tuna
To a neutered Bodhisattva.
Writhing peaches for the President
Out on the White House lawn.
So he brushed past the two with a downcast, "See you later," and walked down the beach a mile or so. He stopped when he saw an Oriental girl sitting alone in a beach chair. Her skin was mottled as if someone had dipped her in a large tank to make her white and forgot to leave her in long enough. She was a Palomino riding the plastic chaise lounge and she was unloved and unwanted. He could tell that from the corner of her eyes which would not look at him. He sat down in the sand beside her recliner and felt the pieces begin to fall into place.
Beating Herbert Hoover
With a leather tipped Pinada.
Thorn and Katy drink the milk
Tinted Amerasian Green.
Return. Return. Return.
Lyrics by Better than Ezra from Friction Baby