This little tale is of a boring jumbled thought I manifested in the time I sat on a dirty bench near an old stomping ground of my youth. It was a bad neighborhood, whose forefathers lied in history books about that fact. Those brave enough to leave were so astonished by the people, places and smells that were discovered outside, that they rarely returned home except to pee.
I oft wondered what would happen if the killer came to me whilst I sat on this cold ass bench scribbling these thoughts on tissue paper on this unhappy Sunday with no Sun. Someone else would be posting this funny nonsensical drivel and I would be an archaeological find in a thousand years.
It happened under a midnight blue sky that was peering furiously down at my purple complected cheeks which were, draped in moss green pants and dwelling on an blood red blouse with little silver sparkles that caught the light effortlessly. I remember that Christmas style get up clearly because I matched the scenery so well while waiting for the 29 bus to go home. I sat in quiet thought at the almost desolate bus stop and asked myself why the fuck don't I drive. I bought my mother her last three cars for crying out loud.
Then my thoughts swam happily toward the lively streets near my home where the shopkeepers come out to keep a lady company and the neighbors all carouse fluently in happy inflected tones and moods. I wanted to be home. Badly. I wondered if I was being watched. I stuck out like a fly in milk. The streets were desolate and unfriendly, even though it was early evening. Moon, sun, and street lights were hitting the pavement at odd angles. I giggled because the cracked pavement looked like the made up faces of the burnt out whores parading up and down the street corners three blocks back.
Snickering loud enough to hear my own echo, I think of all who've become alien recently, when I didn't find the happiness I was searching for. I'm wondering sitting my ass on this cold bench how I let my control slip. I sat by watching friends become enemies and enemies become acquaintances and lovers. The funniest of all whores seeking my guidance and friendship. They wanted to repent their sexual defects in society to me. I know they lost all reason coming to me.
Whores. They are orgasmic receptacles for naughty, unfaithful husbands and those who would have paid freely for the over decorated garbage cans that they had become. I count myself amongst them. I always have. The only advice I could give them was to drink water, protect themselves, and not fuck for anything less than their worth. I know now it was the wrong choice of words, but what could I say, my programming's off.
The entire world shifted in a fortnight and I stood there baffled at my place at its middle rung. Now worker-bee and professional, some kind of 'petit bourgeois' because of my 40 acres and a mule, in the common tongue and a tiny person of limited Napoleonic power for the ignorant. I'm a portly beacon, waging war tirelessly with my demonic angels both real and imagined. Why in Odin's holy name did my lesser combatants feel my equal all of a sudden? Why am I being tested now? Why are exes, prospective suitors and pseudo confidantes fielding my resolve? ...testing my limits? They know I'm as replaceable as a 99 cent store battery. *brushes off the shelf*
But enough about me scratching my conscience with dirty fingernails. My pleasantness always brings me back. I'm still figuring out what a one night stand means. That was the real thought I had under the street lamp. My dearest friend asked if she should feel guilty about engaging in a fanciful affair. She described him novella style. Tracing his physicality with her mind, made me smile. This little hot ass hiding behind her Masters of Psyche degree made me proud to call her my friend.
I explained to her my situation and described it flashback style: His broad shoulders, his angry unchallenged youthful face and fearlessness in approaching someone ten years his senior on purpose and with no ill intent. But then I interjected the reality into the fantasy. She has no husband, no children and almost all necessary reason to know the difference between love and sex. I sadly told her they both amount to nothing in the end. You either become enraptured with the forbidden and can't ever have it again or you curse yourself because it sucked. You would be tickled to know she went for it and was sorely disappointed but she did state his face and demeanor made up for the worst dick she ever had.
As she expressed this fact to me, I told her briefly, of a missed opportunity with a young man of similar stature but a bit more demure, subdued even. Recent tragedy had caused him to grow up quickly and treat women as he would treat his mother or his sister. One lay in eternal slumber, as an undisturbed earthly beauty, somewhere warm with a scent of pine needles and mint. I oft wondered where he disappeared to. I was unfortunate enough not to sleep with this extraordinary young man.
Alas, his youth and temperament shone and he vanished with my patience and necessary scrutiny of him unfulfilled. And unwittingly, that encounter may have cost too much or been to taxing on my now delicate conscience. I have not pursued a resolution as yet. I explained to my old peer that she should not have been worn so freely by any foot, sock, or penis that hip-hopped by. She laughed because her inexperienced youth, was a listless lover. My eyebrows raised when she said she was hunting for another and gave her the same advice, except I asked that the next young fuck should at least have a mustache and visible pubic hair!
She rolled on the floor laughing, I sat sternly, she realized I was serious and we laughed even harder together.
Me, on the other hand, is sadly forced to sit at a sea smelling bus stop wondering if my bon-bons are melting or my children have run off to join the circus in my short absence. I ponder what would happen if my world view was less skewed than my peers. They would probably think me a foolish, but I digress as I sit here pondering bullshit two whole hours from home.
