Weaving through traffic. The linear lights
of the tunnel through blurred
vision. The randomness of the perfume beside me mixed
with the smells of
summer. Traversing through the mountains countless times,
always late dawn.
The odor of sweat, cigarettes, alcohol and fresh, false,
air conditioned
air. Arrival much quicker than thought at departure.
Stagger to the
apartment lobby. The security guard, old man, nodding
off in deep sleep.
Waiting which surprisingly quickly passes. Am feeling
lifeless and about to
slip into drunken oblivion, when suddenly, like in the
movies, when the
camera moves further and further away from a character,
most usually
portraying death and the leaving of soul, the picture
is sent careening back
in quadruple speed to the aforementioned person, whomever
actress of actor
they may be, and you are privy to a cinematic resurrection.
Another snatch
of perfume. Bam! I awake. A moment of clarity. I realize
my randiness knows
no quarter. My sensual instincts take over. Octoman
arrives with a jerk of
Clark Kent speed and precision. Kungfu style fighting,
my hands fondle and
grope the soft lush body beside me, only to be parried
and turned aside.
Ding! The sound of the elevator's
arrival. It lights the passageway of the
darkened cement space we occupy. I see her for the first
time in my clarity.
The mirror encased ride to the sky reflects our projections.
I laugh and
cackle inside at the stranger looking back at me.
We step inside to go for a ride.
The tentacle reaches forward to press
nine. I close my eyes. What's this? Suddenly I am consumed
by Octowoman like
hands. I yield without any fight.
Ding! Ninth floor the bell sounds.
The two stagger out the door. He
reaches into his pockets, trying to find the single
key which will open the
door. Before they even pass the shoe mat, both will
be in a state of
half-undress. He digs his paw into the left front pocket.
Thwarted by the
ever elusive key. His right front pocket. Back left
pocket, back right
pocket. All the pockets full of money and change. It
is difficult to make
out a single, lone, silver key amidst such disorder.
Finally, the left
breast pocket, hidden among a few rumpled bills, lies
the key. A few more
seconds to see the key hole in the darkened hallway.
Keys fit into their
holes so tightly and precisely. Inflamed thoughts race
as a lighter is lit;
to guide the way. The metallic sensual sound of the
key sliding into place.
The groan of the locking mechanism clicking open. Inside,
it is as
predicted, before they hit the floor, amazingly half-undressed.
All kinds of
acts are performed together, to one, then the other.
Just the usual fucking,
I suppose. Satiated, the two fall asleep on the bare
and cool floor.
Awakened by the flooding sunshine
and dried throat. Bam! Boom! cries the
head of no returns. The girl beside him is gone. Maybe
he dreamed her away
somehow. Only a faint scent of her remains, permeating
his senses.
Drunken with her, he thinks, "You
linger far too long even when you're
gone. What was your name? Did you know my name? Maybe
I'll see you again. If
not, in another form, in another body, we'll meet, you
and I. You me, and me
you. We're the professionals of this sport. Weekend
meeting and fucking."
The used, sperm filled, rubber,
50 cent, beaded, colored, condoms lie
strewn across the floor. A record of last night. Turn
the boiler on to take
a shower.
The routine, ordered, regimented
schedule which is called my life. Today
is Sunday. A day to kill. A day to rest and recuperate.
Another week of
work. Another happy and forgotten weekend written off
the mirror of my life,
three more till payday.
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