Britney Spears Naked Crotch Trap You

"You won't find it here."

"Find what?"















"What ever you are looking for, searching for, seeking."

"Why do you say I won't find it here?"

"I can only go on my own experience, and for me, I wouldn't be able to find it here."

"How do you know what I'm searching, seeking, looking for?"

"I never said I did."

"Then how do you know I won't find it here?"

"Trust me, it isn't in there."

"Why should I trust you?"

It was the first real chill of fall and as they stood on the sidewalk and talked steam issued forth from their mouths. Women whose perfect design had been honed and refined to the highest order since time immemorial passed in and out of the front door, their dress oblivious to any change in the season.

Inside the party goers mixed about in celebration of the opening of a photo exhibition. The music was loud and the stark photos of beautiful girls that papered the walls were luckily intriguing and then the talk of the photographer was only positive and the mood in the small gallery sharp and playful like an opening in Hollywood can be.

"You don't have to trust me?"

"Well I'm not saying I don't trust you specifically, I just don't know if I trust anyone."

"Well know that what you are really looking for you won't find in there."

"How can you say that? Did you see that girl?"

"She was incredible granted. Is that what you are really looking for?"

"Sure, its getting cold and I need someone to spend the winter months with."

"So that is what you want?"

"Well no shit Sherlock. Why wouldn't I?"

"No reason why you shouldn't. I wouldn't mind it myself."

"See there."

"Alright then why don't you go inside and find what you are looking for?"

"Don't mind if I do."

He watched as his friend entered the gallery and the door closed behind him. The parade in and out the gallery door was dizzying. The flow of beauty from around the world to the west coast was famous and it seemed as if it had all been leading to this particular evening at this particular gallery.

As he waited on the street he was approached by a dirty man, a bare compact disc in hand, a look of desperation on his face.

"Buy this for a dollar."

"It sure is cold tonight, isn't it?"

"Dollar for this CD."

He looked at the man's filthy mottled hands and then to his bleary eyes shot through with red veins.














"What's the dollar for?"

"Dollar for the CD."

"Some food? A beer?"

"Dollar for the CD."

"Right, right dollar for the CD."

He fished out a dollar from his pocket.

"Here's a dollar. You can keep the CD."

The man thrust the CD into his hand.

"Dollar for the CD."

The man looked hard at the dollar then lifted it over his head and held it up to the street light. He turned the dollar back and forth examining each side closely then in a quick movement thrust it into his pants. He looked quickly both ways before breaking into a zombie walk and moving away up the sidewalk.

He took the used scratched CD and placed it on top of a news rack. There would be no future need for it is far as he could see. Just after he placed the CD down he turned around to find his friend had returned.

"Did you find it?"

"There were more hot girls in that room then I have ever seen before in my life."

"I am so glad for you but did you find what you were looking for?"

"Okay, I get it."

"I knew you would."

"So they wouldn't talk to you huh?"

"I talked to some but I had nothing really to say to them."

"And?"

"One said she would give me her phone number but she went to the bathroom and never came back."

"Listen I don't mean to harsh your trip but those girls in there are just people. So they may have been gifted with genes that make them stunning beauties but they are just people."

"So."

"All I'm saying is that for me, and mind you this is only for me, that although beauty is alluring, and don't get me wrong I appreciate the hell out of a pretty girl, but that is not what I'm looking for. I just want the truth. The truth is not in there. The artifice is in there. The act and the pose is in there. All I want is some truth, just gimme some truth."

"Nice Lennon quote."

"Thanks. So if you go in there hoping to find what you are looking for you might find it, then again, the odds are pretty bad."

"You know you think too much. If you would just play along you might be able to just go in there and pull one."

"Maybe, maybe."

"C'mon let's go in and give it another try."














"I could think of worse things."

"Aint that the truth?"

The Fence Straddler

"I know but he's married and they seem to be happy as all get out."

"They are and he's all for it, no two ways, but there was a time when we all swore that he was gay as hell."















"Buddy the jury was still out."

"Remember the girl he showed up with after he went to rehab?"

"Oh the one with the dreadlocks."

"Yeah man, she must of been fifty years old."

"You have to wonder about a guy who has all these ugly girlfriends he doesn't fuck."

"But he also went out with Angelina Jolie."

"He must of fucked her."

"Oh he did, but then again..."

"Then again what?"

"I aint saying."

"Oh c'mon you started, you have to finish."

"Did I tell you about the time I made him agree to help me rip off this dealer?"

"Don't change the subject."

"We were really sick and..."
















"This doesn't sound like the story I wanted to hear but since you started it you may as well go ahead."

"Right, like I said we were really sick and..."

"What story of yours doesn't start with we were really sick?"

"Well we were always sick or well and there is nothing to say about being well so of course every good story starts with being sick. So he had this dealer kid, supposed to be a real nice guy and we were broke as usual and I don't know this guy and he does, so a front isn't going to happen for me. So I tell him we are going to take this guy down."

"I can't believe that he would go for that."

"I had, to put it mildly, coerce him into cooperating."

"You threatened him."

"Okay, I threatened him. So you know how the dealers keep the balloons in their mouths."

"Sure they always do."

"And he said this guy was a little guy and they never carry guns because you get caught with guns and drugs and your just fucked."

"Get to it already."

"Okay so I tell him that when I grab this guy by the throat you better be ready to pick the balloons up when he chokes them up."

"Holy shit."

"What can I say I was sick."

"So did you pull it off?"

"So we are parked in this guys car, and I'm in the back seat and I reach in front of me to grab this guy by the throat and just as I'm about to close in on him I look over and our boy is just shaking his head no, no, no, don't do it."

"The puss."

"So this dealer is looking around like, what the fuck is going on, and my hands are inches from his neck so I just kind of start patting him on the back and saying what a nice guy he was. I was fucking pissed."

"What the fuck did you do?"

"Turns out he was a really nice guy. I was all dude can you give me a front being that this is the first time I copped from you?, and he was all cool saying no problem I take care of you you'll be my customer right?"

"First one should always be free."

"Hale yeah. Never saw the guy again."

"I hate to say it but that is more evidence in the gay column for our boy."

"I was over their house day after thanksgiving and they were in their pajamas and just being such newlyweds, our boy aint gay."

"I wouldn't care if he was."

"Me neither but fact is he aint."














"So what were you saying about Angelina Jolie."

"Well they were living over in Westwood and..."

You Said Who About What

The neighborhood was surely changing and she had changed with it. The Tower Records, so long the cornerstone of the neighborhood, was gone. The Whiskey A-Go-Go had lost all relevance years earlier and now that Johnny Depp was no longer part of the Viper room the whole landscape was in flux. It had been years since the tragedy and loss of that fateful Halloween but memories of those tumultuous dark days still haunted her.















How do you move past something that is at once so much a part of you and then again a fitful memory far removed from the now? You write it. You struggle with the reality and the facts and then you concede to the revealing of truth through fancy. This she did. She wrote about the de-limbed monger and the rescue of the heavenly scalare. She stared herself down and extracted the bleak and the redemptive without pause. She put it all down on the damn page and worked, and worked, and wrote.

It was early on a fall evening as she arrived at Book Soup on Sunset Blvd. Her nerves rattled and shook. This wasn't her idea but when her publisher called excitedly with the date she, against her every better instinct, acquiesced. Her first public reading and of a book she had written that was now actually in print. She had never dreamed of such a thing happening, at least that's what she told herself, for in the deepmost of that churning inside she wanted nothing more but now that the time was upon her she didn't know what to make of it.

As she entered the store she was greeted by one of the staff, a stereotypical bookish type, glasses and foppish hair, his demeanor courteous but not expansive. It wasn't as if she were Vidal or even Steven King, she was a first time author and she was ushered to the back of the store and shown where the reading would take place. None of it registered with her. She was there in body but her mind still traversed those long ago places now alive on the page as well as seared into her being. Was this really her in this store or some impostor pretending to be an author? There was talk all about her and she did her best to respond but little of what issued forth from her amounted to much more than meek platitudes.














"I want to thank you all for coming tonight. I am going to be reading some selections from my novel and I hope you enjoy them. Well I am not so sure enjoy is the proper word to describe the experience you might have. You would think with me being an author and everything that I might be a bit more well spoken, and I probably should be but I'm afraid that is not the case. My publisher said I should open with something funny, and I asked him if he meant something funny from the novel or just a joke, you know, knock knock or something, but he wouldn't say, he just said to go with what I thought was best and I told him what I thought was best is if we just canceled the whole thing because the last place I could be funny would be in a group of people expecting me to be...well, funny."

The group of friends and curious shoppers laughed with her nervousness and so she opened the book and began to read. As the words tumbled from her lips she lived the root of their being. The characters may not have existed in reality but their true models had and she wrestled even now with their memory. The pages trembled before her and she could not hear her voice. She knew that her lips moved and as she turned from leaf to leaf she felt the pull of the old world.

There was a burst of applause and then she was shaken to look up and recognize those faces smiling up at her. The rest was even more of a blur then what had previously transpired. She sat at a small table and signed her name on these books. She, with the ink from her hand, made truth of these manuscripts. It was if she were authorizing, as if she were a notary public, authenticating the words she had scribed in to these bound volumes.














She stood on the street and took a quiet moment. The reading was all just another time passed now. Is this how she had lived those days that had informed the volume she had just read from? Was she more present then then she was now? Perhaps she would find that out when at some point in the future she read from a work about an author reading for the first time in public. She couldn't wait to get home, to work, to work, to write.

Hey Didn't They Film Swingers Here? Part XXXIV

"Elaine that was probably the best bread pudding I have ever tasted. My god I don't know what got in to Hector tonight but he knocked this one out of the park. The only problem is I think I might have some trouble pushing away from the table."















Elaine was over listening if that were possible. She focused on Marty with all her might hoping to avoid looking back over at Rene sitting at the rock star's table.

"Why don't we go back in the kitchen and thank him. Come on let's go."

"There's no hurry dear, let's just sit here a little while longer and digest."

Elaine stole a look into the bar area, specifically where Rene had been sitting with the drummer. Much to her relief he had left.

"Okay Marty, let's just sit a little more and then we can go thank Hector."

"I thank you and my stomach thanks you" Marty said, as he ran his hands over his bulging midsection.

"You know Marty at times like this I wished we still smoked."

"I know what you mean. The after dinner cigarette was always the best just in front of the first drink smoke."

"Remember when you could smoke anywhere. I think people look glamorous when they smoke."

"Up to a point. People our age don't look glamorous, they look pathetic."














"Marty that isn't nice."

"I'm sorry, its just that the kids have it so easy. There is something to be said for the naivete of youth. When you are young you are bullet proof then as you get older reality sets in and you stop smoking and the like."

Marty didn't mean to infer that Elaine was pathetic or that she hadn't accepted reality, that she hadn't stopped drinking like a kid but he was afraid she thought he had.

"Listen Elaine being that we are celebrating tonight why don't we bum a couple of smokes from Sheri and go out in the alley and smoke them like a couple of bad kids?"

Elaine really didn't want to smoke but anything she could do to get out of the restaurant for a while sounded good to her.

"Do you really think we should?" she smiled conspiratorially at Marty.

Marty stood from the table.

"Hey little girl meet me in the alley I'm off to find the dealer."

Elaine looked back over into the bar once again. Where was that Rene? She didn't want to see him until they were on stage for when she was on stage she was oblivious to everything but the music. She got up from the table and suddenly felt the effects of the wine and she stumbled a bit on her first step but quickly recovered then looked around to see that no one had noticed.

As Elaine made her way though the dining room she was greeted by most of the diners seated at the tables. It was like she was a conquering hero here and to them she was. Marty and Elaine had made a name for themselves and had become somewhat of minor celebrities in their own right.














Elaine didn't feel like talking with her fans as she did on most nights. She wanted to be with Marty in the alley, she wanted to be with Marty on the stage, she wanted to be with Marty at home. She wanted to be with Marty anywhere there wasn't a Rene Navarette.

Quartered Then Drawn

"Mister Von Stroheim if you could please take your seat."

"But your honor I'm innocent."















"Counsel could you please inform Mister Von Stroheim that he must obey the court's wishes and speak only when he is called upon."

A murmur ran through the courthouse. It was the first day of the trial and a jury of Erich Von Stroheim's peers were to judge his innocence or guilt. The trial had come about quickly and Von Stroheim's defense had little time to prepare.

"It is a second amendment issue Bob", pleaded Von Stroheim.

"That isn't how the plaintiff tells it. She says it was theft and sadly I tend to agree with her, if one were only to consider the exact letter of the law."

"But I meant no harm."

"I'm sure you didn't but that matters very little. Listen pal just let me do my job and we'll be just fine."

"We'll be? Its me who is on the line here, pal."

"Just be quiet and it will all work out. Trust me."

The jurors sat in the jury box and eyed Erich Von Stroheim with eyes bulging with disdain. They were to be a jury of his peers but none of them fit that profile. It would be an uphill battle getting justice from this lot for they had already tried and convicted him moments into the prosecutor's opening comments.

The prosecutor managed to associate Von Stroheim with a series of crimes far more serious then any he had committed.

"Assembled jurors, justice must be served and in doing so you must find Mister Von Stroheim guilty. Other criminals who have stood trial for this offense have also been guilty of breaking California Penal statutes such as 261-a and 261-4, both offenses are sex crimes that deal with lack of consent and fraud in the perpetration of sexual relations. Although Mister Von Stroheim is not standing trial for these acts there is nothing in his docket that says he won't commit these offenses if left to roam free among civilized society. I therefore implore you to do your part as good citizens of this fair city and find him guilty and rid the law abiding populace of our town of this potential menace."

The jurors bobbed their heads in assent as the District Attorney listed the crimes Von Stroheim had presumably committed. When the prosecutor had finished his remarks Von Stroheim's attorney was given a chance to launch his defense.















"Good people of Los Angeles. The prosecutor has made a strong case and there is very little I can say to address his concerns but let me assure you my client is repentant and promises to never do these deplorable acts ever again. Thank you."

The defense attorney finished his statement then took his seat next to Von Stroheim.

"Jesus Bob what kind of defense was that?"

"I told you to trust me, realx."

"Trust you. I'm going to be locked away and you're going to be spending the money I paid you and you want me to relax? Are you out of your mind?"

The judge looked down at Von Stroheim as a teacher would an unruly student.

"Mister Von Stroheim I will not ask you again. If I hear your voice one more time you are looking at the added count of contempt of court."

The morning dragged on. The prosecutor brought out the evidence, three photographs blown up to staggering proportions and the jury was visibly shaken by their appearance.

"The plaintiff could not be present for she is a foreign national but as you can see her every god given right has been violated by the cur Erich Von Stroheim."

"Cur, good word counsel", the judge interjected.

When it came time to mount the defense Bob the Attorney, rested his case.

"Listen Erich its better we don't rile the jury anymore then need be", he whispered.

"You mean you're not going to let me speak in my own defense?"

"Are you kidding? That would be suicide. Trust me."

The case was over nearly before it began and the judge gave the jury their final instructions.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury are your instructions clear?"

The foreman gave him the high sign and a wink.

"That's what I thought, excellent. If you could make it fast I might get in a late tee time."

With that the jury left the courtroom. The judge looked down and spoke directly to Von Stroheim.

"Mister Von Stroheim you have committed a heinous act and I believe you might have just a little time on your hands to consider the folly of your errant ways. Be ever mindful that the law will follow you to where you are going. Have you heard of California penal code sections 286-e and 288-a? These laws concern the sexual acts you might want to perform while you are a guest of this great state. I assure you if you come before me again, guilty of any of these lascivious acts, I will have no trouble insuring that your stay with us is extended to the full force of the law."

The jury made a speedy return as instructed and took their seats.

"I'm sure you have you reached the proper verdict Mister Foreman could you please hand it to the bailiff."

The bailiff took the form from the jury and the foreman gave the judge a thumbs up. The judge took the verdict and before he even began opening it started to speak.

"Mister Von Stroheim will you please stand. You are guilty son, I don't even need to look at his paper but I will because the law says I must do so and I'm not going to let some ACLU type overturn this case."

The Judge ripped open the form.

"Like I said you are guilty. No doubt about it. It says here that you shall be remanded to custody and spend the next twelve months in a correctional institute that our good friends in the sheriff's department are keeping at the ready for scum such as you. Sadly the law says you have a chance to address the court, you don't want to exercise this option now do you?"

"Your honor" Von Stroheim shouted, "this trial has been a sham. I want my lawyer brought up on procedural misconduct. I'm innocent. I want another trial."

"Now isn't that just great for you Mister Von Stroheim. You've had your say, gaurds remand this man into custody."
















"I'm sorry you feel that way Erich", said Bob the Lawyer, "I would take the judge at his word and stay away from any prison romances. See ya."

The Sheriff hand cuffed Von Stroheim and led him from the court.

The City of Angels was now a much safer place to live, it's citizens free to sleep peaceful in their beds knowing that one more creep had been given his just due. The world was in fact a better place for it as well. Justice had prevailed. God bless us all.

The Slump Buster

"There is this guy who works in a factory, and when everyone else goes to lunch he stays behind, this guy takes his job seriously, he stays behind and polishes the bombs...this song is called Making the Bombs."















The crowd roared. Uncle Morty tried to look into the audience of sweaty bodies, the stage lights had turned them into silhouettes before his eyes and he strained to see any faces. Was she out there? He had to look, he had to at least check to see if she were there, even though there wouldn't be many girls among the kids that night, he had to look lest he miss her. He was finally ready to look for her but it had been a long time coming. He hadn't been ready until this night. The night before had been a tonic much needed, it changed everything and now he was ready for her.

The band kicked in...

"I spend my nights in the factory
Building bombs for the good of the nation
It's my job can't you see?
Massive plutonium radiation
They're gonna rock and destroy
Made from the finest of alloys
They're gonna fly under the radar
Six feet over the Iraqi horizon

Making The Bombs!
Making The Bombs!"

The kids in Reno went ballistic as the band exploded in a practiced fury. Uncle Morty sang with conviction but his mind was elsewhere. The previous nights exploits just wouldn't clear from his head. The evening had started like any other night off on tour. They had rolled into town and being that it was Reno, a tourist town with preponderance of hotel rooms, they could afford to stay at a hotel other then Motel 6. They checked in and Morty sick of being indoors decided to go for a walk.

In the lobby of the hotel a biker approached him. Big and burly, a real no fooling biker, not a weekend warrior, sleeved and dangerous walked up on him. Morty froze for a moment but then...

"Hey man, I love your band. You guys playing a show or something?"

"Yeah man. We're playing at some club tomorrow night."

"Really. Fuck man I'm going to be there. I've seen you guys shit loads over the years you fucking rock."

Uncle Morty was relieved that this thug was a keener. Over the years he had found himself in the presence of the most unlikely of keeners and in these situations he always appreciated his minor celebrity status.

"That's really cool that you are going to the show. I don't know anybody here, do you want to be on the guest list?"

"Jesus fuck bro that would be fucking rocking."

"You want a plus one?"

"Oh hell yeah."

"You got something to write your name down on?"

The biker pulled on a chain wallet, opened it up and pulled out a business card. He walked over to the front desk wrote something on the card and then returned.

"The names Red. Listen man take a good look at this card."

He handed the business card to Uncle Morty.

"This is my brother's business. If you look closely you'll see it is a voucher worth two hundred dollars."

Uncle Morty looked at the card. It was for a place called 'The Bunny Ranch'.

"That's right my brother owns a bordello, we are in Nevada right?"

"Yeah we sure are."

"Well you go over there and tell them Red sent you and give them this card. They got a lot of pretty girls over there for sure."

Just then there was a loud rumble of bikes in front of the hotel.

"Gotta fly bro. I'll see ya tomorrow night."














The biker turned and left, a moment later there was another thunderous roar as the bikes took off.

"I install electronic components
The little chips that know where home is
It's such a thrill going through my section
When I give them my final inspection"

Uncle Morty stared at the card. It had been a long while since he had been with a woman. He couldn't go to a whorehouse, it was wrong wasn't it? He had had many crushes on girls over the last few years but nothing ever panned out. He had forgotten what being with a girl was like and had become so frustrated that he had almost lost interest in the whole thing. 'But a whorehouse', he couldn't do that. It was an unspoken concern among his friends, this lack of female company that he was suffering and every effort in their power had been made to try and rectify the situation but to no avail.

Uncle Morty was standing in the lobby staring at the card when the guitar player, Gingles, approached and then saw the card.

"The Bunny Ranch? I'll go with you."

"I'm not going man."

"Oh c'mon man. We're in Reno and we got the night off, let's go. Shit you have a freebie card, we gotta do this."

"I'm not going."

"Fuck that I'm getting us a cab."

"Well I'll go but just to look around."

Gingles was already in the street getting into a cab. As they drove through Reno every thought flooded Uncle Morty's mind. What if he couldn't do it anymore? Maybe he forgot how? What if he blew his load too quickly? What if the girl was ugly?"

They entered the building, a single story ranch style house in a deserted part of town and were greeted by a grim thug, not unlike Red, at the door.

"You guys been here before?"

"No. I'm..."

"Give him the card man" Gingles almost shouted.

Uncle Morty handed the card to the doorman and immediately his demeanor changed.

"Oh hell. Red give you this, goddam?"

"Yeah he gave it to him, he's a big fan of our band."

The bouncer nearly pushed them into the building and then into a lounge with tacky red upholstered couches.

"You boys just sit still a minute and I'll tell the girls you're here."

Gingles and Morty sat on the couch and soon a older woman approached them.

"Ya'all want a drink? I hear your friends of Red's, that true?"

"Oh we're okay." Morty said with noticeable unease.

"Yeah Red's a fan of ours."

"Aint that nice. You boys have fun now."

As the hostess left Gingles turned to Morty.

"Thank god that was just the drinks lady. For a second there I thought she was the talent."

Uncle Morty didn't respond. All those insecurities were at play within him. Then a line of ten girls entered the room. They ran the gamut from not so great to exceptional. Morty couldn't take his eyes off a tall blond and she stared right back. Gingles nearly jumped from the couch and grabbed a little red head by the arm and then she led him out of the room. Now Uncle Morty was alone in a room with nine women, nine women prepared to do anything he could ever want to do to a woman. A moment passed and then the blond came over and sat next to him on the couch.

"This your first time here?" she asked.

"Umm, yeah, yes it is."

"This your first visit to a..."

"Uh, yes."

"Listen honey you just relax. Stop thinking I'll take care of everything."

With that she stood. Uncle Morty looked up at this beautiful girl. He was frozen. She reached down and took hold of his arm.

"You just leave everything to me sugar."

She pulled him to his feet and then led him out of the room.

"I like the kind that save the buildings
Why take it out on pillars of stone?
You gotta kill you gotta maim
The real estate is not to blame

Making The Bombs!
Making The Bombs!"

The taxi sped through the Reno night.

"Oh my god that chick was so fucking hot man I can't fucking believe I had my dick inside that" Gingles enthused.

Uncle Morty didn't say much but something had happened inside that whorehouse. He felt a man again. In his mind anything was possible now.
















"Making The Bombs!
Making The Bombs!"

Uncle Morty spun and twirled and sang with all his might. He looked to the side of the stage and there was Red, his head banging, hair flying. He looked for the girl, not the girl from the night before but for, the girl. She would be out there one night, one day, somewhere, but now he knew he would someday find her.

You've Got To Hold On

"I've go to go."

"So soon?"

"Yeah, I'm sorry but I really have to get a move on."














"I thought you could stay longer."

"I wish I could."

"Where are you going?"

"I'd rather not say."

"It must be pretty important."

"Not really."

"Then what's the rush?"

"Oh there's no hurry."

"Then why do you have to leave right now?"

"I wish you wouldn't ask that."

"Are you hiding something from me?"

"That's an unfair question."

"I don't think so."

"I do."

"Just answer it."

"I can't I have to leave."

"But why do you have to go?"

"You already asked that and I told you I couldn't tell you the answer."

"And you won't say where you are going."

"Actually I don't know where I am going."

"What?"

"I really don't know where I am going after I leave here."

"Then why go?"

"Because I have to leave."

"So you're in no hurry and you don't know where you are going but you have to leave now to go somewhere."

"In so many words, yes"

"And you won't say if you're hiding something from me?"

"Correct."

"And you don't think that is unfair of you?"

"I don't know what is fair or unfair."

"Do you care about me?"

"Yes, yes I do."

"Well if you care for me then you will tell me why you have to go."

"Do you really want to know?"

"Of course what have I been saying for the last five minutes."














"But if I tell you I will have to stay to tell you."

"And so."

"And so, I can't stay."

"Just stay long enough to tell me why you have to leave and then you can go."

"That won't work."

"It won't?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I can't stay."

"Yes you can."

"I can?"

"I just said so."

"You did?"

"I said that if you tell me why you have to leave you can stay to tell me."

"I heard that."

"So just tell me."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Okay...I have to leave because if I stay I will never leave."

"I said you could go after you told me."

"I just told you."

"Told me what?"

"That now I can't leave."

"What?"

"Now that you know that I really don't want to go, that I never did, that there is no place I want to be but here with you, I can't ever leave."

"But..."

"You know the truth now. Do you want me to leave now that I have told you?"

"No."

"Then I'll stay."

"I'd like that."

"Me too."














"So you'll stay?"

"Yes."

"Good."

"Yes, good."

Must I Vacate As Well

Smart Kevin was having none of it. Earlier in the day he had eaten at the new Pizzeria Mozza on Highland just south of Melrose. It inhabited the building that use to house Emilio's, a Mexican restaurant known for it's expensive food and shady clientele. The new venture was a collaboration between Nancy Silverton of La Brea Bakery fame and wonder chef Mario Batali. Earlier in the week the unopened restaurant had been burgled and the only thing snatched was a hundred pounds of expensive salumi, a type of salami. Smart Kevin could see that logic of that crime, not that he would perpetrate such a heist but if he did the salumi would have been his goal as well. It was that kind of restaurant.

Smart Kevin had arrived before the doors opened that morning and made a reservation for two that afternoon. He could barely contain his anticipation and got on the horn to find a date to share the meal. He was greeted by answering machines and ringing phones so he decided to dine alone. The meal was beyond his wildest dreams and much to his excitement he saw a few notable chefs among the other diners.

That night as he sat with Little J and Manny Shevits at the 101 diner he could not stop referring to his meal from earlier in the day.

"You don't get it. I mean it isn't just pizza, it is made in a wood fire oven, just like in Italy, and Nancy Silverton came up with the recipe for the crust and it was sublime."

"I can't wait for Thanksgiving tomorrow" interjected Manny trying to shake Smart Kevin off the subject; he had heard enough.

"Fuck a Thanksgiving" Smart Kevin shot back.

"Do you have something against turkey and stuffing and sweet potato pie and mashed potatoes and..." Little J, hers eyes glazing over with thoughts of her Thanksgiving feast dancing in her head, couldn't even finish imagining her menu when Smart Kevin cut her off.














"Oh the food is just fine if prepared correctly but it is the holiday itself I have trouble with."

"What's wrong with a huge grub and football?" Manny asked quizzically.

"You don't get what I am trying to say. Football, fine. The food, fantastic, again if prepared correctly. What I don't like is the root cause of the celebration. I know we see it as a way to get the family together and stuff ourselves silly, they probably chose turkey as a main course because the tryptophane mellows everyone out so hopefully they will all fall asleep and not argue but that isn't the point."

"So then what is?" Asked Little J, just a little afraid that Smart Kevin would actually answer.

"The point is the we are fed this line of shit about the pilgrims and the Native Americans, known by the misnomer, Indians, and we are told to celebrate the fact that these 'indians' saved the pilgrim's asses when in reality these same pilgrims waged a genocide on these benevolent 'indians' over the next three hundred years."

"That's not fair." Said Little J.

"Oh and introducing small pox and the flu and other European diseases was fair. This whole rewriting of history is probably responsible for a lot of the woe the U.S. visits upon the rest of the world. We are taught that these pilgrims and settlers and all the great white race that came to America were these heroes. That's a bunch of bullshit. These fabrications and all out lies helped create this myth that we Americans were chosen by manifest destiny and that every action we take is the right one."

"But I like turkey" Manny pleaded.

"Hell, I like turkey too but why don't we make Thanksgiving a day of atonement for the evils our forebearers visited upon the indigenous peoples of Northern America. Why doesn't the government do something to raise our people up instead of blindly following a tradition that is a fraud at it's core."

"I guess you really don't have an opinion on the subject do you?" Little J conceded.

"Why do you think they call him Smart Kevin?" Manny added.














"So I'll eat your turkey but only begrudgingly. I will do all those things, I'll watch football. I'll make nice with the family but I will also hope against hope that we, as the so called leaders of the free world, will come to our senses and right what wrongs may have been committed in our names."

"So what else was really great about Pizzeria Mozza?" pleaded Little J.

"Very funny." Smart Kevin said as he squelched the desire to break into another scree.

Length Versus Width

"I love you."

"I love you too."















"I've never felt this way about anybody."

"I know its crazy isn't it?"

"I wasn't expecting this to happen."

"Well it happened."

"I know and I thank god my every waking moment for bringing you to me."

"It must have been an act of god because nothing could ever be this perfect."

"I feel alive for the first time in my life."

"I want to be with you forever."

"As do I."

"I would bring you flowers but I don't want to shame them before your beauty."

"Sometimes love seems to small a word for the way I feel."

"My heart has swelled to oceanic dimensions."

"I never want us to separate."

"You are like a diamond to me."

"A diamond, really?"

"Yes dear, a wonderful diamond."

"Are you sure?"

"I have never been more positive about anything in my entire life."

"Are you absolutely sure, a diamond?"

"Oh yes. A diamond."

"So you think I'm hard and transparent?"

"What?"

"That I'm common."

"No you're the rarest of the rare."















"Not if you think me a diamond. Diamonds are just a common stone. You see me as a crass commercial sentiment sold to the lowest common denominator? That my dazzle and sparkle are enough? Am I to believe you think that my value is won by the uncaring brutal enslavement of a generation of Africans? That I am a tool of the Dutch, my value escalated by a centuries old monopoly? Is that what you really think of me?"

"I guess I was speaking metaphorically."

"I don't like your sloppy use of metaphors."

"You what?"

"Are you daft? Don't you understand plain english?"

"I understood you."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I am. Don't be that way."

"Which way?"

"I don't like your tone."

"Oh you don't? Just wait I can do better then this."

"I don't think I want to be around to see that."

"Well then you don't have to."

"Fuck you."

"Fuck you and the diamond you rode in on."

"You're just like a fire opal."

"A what?"

"A fire opal."

"I love fire opals."

"You do?"

"Of course, the Fire Opal bestows courage, stamina, and energy on those who might wear it and with that force they disperse old, long outdated ways of thinking and make room for new ones. The warm, fiery orange-red has a positive effect on the psyche conveying a profound sensation of warmth, peace and harmony."

"I love how smart you are."

"You do?"

"It always amazes me."

"You can be so sweet."

"Only to you."















"I love you."

"I love you too."

"I've never felt this way about anybody."

"I know its crazy isn't it?"

Shaken And Stirred

Though class had been in session for only but a few short weeks the students began to take hold of their lessons and to put into lab practice what was once to them only a theoretical notion. The teacher, a well respected man in his discipline, had drilled his wards in every manner concerning the subject at hand and though pleased with their classroom performance held some small doubt whether they might succeed out in the field. It was decided that they would make a trip into the wild and attempt to recreate their practiced studies.

Feeling it better to break the class into small groups Professor Lurakis decided to take only his two star pupils on the first outing. He had counseled each student on the appropriate attire lest they dress inappropriately and diminish their chance for success. The field trip was scheduled for the third Monday in November and the two chosen students bucked up on their lessons and nervously practiced each and every technique that their professor had imparted to them.

They boarded the school van just after ten that evening and set out for the test zone. It was a global warming inspired evening, unseasonably warm and dry, and Professor Lurakis assured his students that this was a great circumstance for their prey would better show themselves in this warm clime. The van sliced smoothly through hazards seen and unseen of the jungle and when the professor thought that they were in a maximum kill zone he pulled over and stopped.

"Just remember what we have learned and try to ignore your natural instincts. Remember if it feels uncomfortable then it is probably the right thing to do. If you become mired in a situation that you can't seem to get out of don't worry I'll be there right by your side. I know you'll both be fine if you just follow the procedures we have rehearsed. Do you have any last questions before we go in?"















"When you are looking in their eyes what are you thinking?" asked the tall bearded student, Zanku.

"Zanku, we covered this in week three but since you have forgotten let me reiterate, when I look in their eyes, I think nothing. I don't want to give them a clue what I might be thinking. If I think of a certain thing then they will sense it. If I think of absolutely nothing then they don't know what to think and will end up imagining what they think I'm thinking which is usually more of a positive then what we are actually trying to achieve."

"That's what I thought." said Erich the handsomer of the two students.

"Good for you Erich. Okay now, then let's get out there and do some work."

The three exited the van and walked to Fred's 62 and took a table by the front door. Professor Lurakis had explained that a seat near the front door was needed for maximum exposure, hence maximum chance for contacting their quarry. To be seated next to the corner only added to their chances being that they were exposed to foot traffic from at least three directions. Professor Lurakis seated himself facing the building allowing the students to sit facing the street. He needn't see their targets he was more concerned with watching his student's actions.

The waitress came to their table and Zanku was first to respond.

"Why those shoes you are wearing are really great."

The waitress smiled.

"You think so?"

"Yeah, they're really great" Erich followed.

"What would you guys like to drink?"

They ordered a round of Arnold Palmers and then watched as the waitress left them.

"Lesson three concerned multiple attacks. If one of you makes the first entreaty then the other must back away. You see you confused her and then she was overwhelmed and ended the conversation."

"I'm sorry Professor Lurakis, I guess I was just too eager."

"Shit Erich, I was going to nail her until you jumped in."

"Okay you two finger pointing will get us nowhere. That was a good first try. Remember it is quantity we are after. The more conversations the better your chances are. The waitress is an easy target to approach, she has to talk to you, it is a good place to practice but your chances are limited due to the fact that a waitress gets more then too many offers per shift and besides its her job to be nice to you. I implore you to pull one from the street."

The busboy brought out the drinks and then the lesson started in earnest. The foot traffic was heavy with girls and women and Zanku and Erich did their best to slow one down to converse with. They weren't having any luck.

"Just this once I will give you a practical demonstration. Change seats with me Zanku" the Professor asked with a sly determination.

"Watch and learn men."

A tall blonde of cute but average looks approached the front door of the restaurant. Professor Lurakis stood and walked over and stood next to her. He bumped into her slightly.

"Oh I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bump into you. "

"That's okay."

"I actually meant to knock you over."

"Well...I."

"You have pretty eyes, they look Chinese, it's probably your make-up."

"Oh really. Thanks."

"What kind of make-up is that?"

The girl began to tell the Professor all about the make-up, where she got it, what she used to use, how she applied it. Within moments she was seated and the students watched as the Professor schooled them. He said very little. At one point he reached over and began to massage the girl's neck. A moment later she stood.

"Why don't I give you a call, give me your number." the Professor asked.

"Oh sure, that would be great." the blonde replied.

As she walked away the Professor watched her go and then rejoined his slack jawed students.

"That was amazing." Zanku said.

"That was a cold approach, lesson one. Initiate contact and then retreat. Let her do all the work for you."

"Right. Lesson one."

The two students tried every manner of approach but to no avail. It was getting late and the Professor was about to end the lesson when a pretty dark haired girl sat down next to them. She wore a red hoodie and oversized glasses, very fashionable and perfect in every way. Erich made contact. His mind raced with every lesson the Professor had taught him. Lesson one, the cold approach, lesson two, the flattering comment, lesson three, eye contact, lesson four, the close. It was all a jumble in his head. His tongue curled in upon itself and he nearly had to scream to force the first words out of his mouth.

"Those are incredible glasses, hi, I mean, oh I..."

"Thanks. You know I was going to meet some friends but they never showed. Would you like to sit with me?"

Erich looked over at his teacher and then at Zanku. He was glued to his chair. Every lesson he had learned escaped him but he somehow found the strength to get up from his chair and sit with the girl.

The next week Erich didn't go to class. He was out on a date with the girl in the red hoodie. He was never really that good at those things the Professor had taught him, he didn't need to be. He was a good guy and his girl new that instinctively.

The Professor never called the blonde and that night after coming home alone after a date he couldn't help but feel a little lonely. Perhaps he needed to take his next group of students out on a field trip. That was it, just one more night, just one more girl, just one more conquest. Just as he was about to go to sleep his phone rang.















"Professor Lurakis?"

"Yes."

"Hi, its Zanku. I need your help. There is this girl at the Von's and I need an opening move."

"Lesson one. Remember we practiced it last week, and you can always use the confused shopper ploy."

"Right, strike in the produce section. I'm going to nail her Professor."

"You do that Zanku. Nail her."

Hey Didn't They Film Swingers Here? Part XXXIII

"I wouldn't say I'm as good as him but I'm a damn good player. I'm just paying the bills here if you know what I mean?"

"There isn't anyone better then the Flea, holy shit I mean really... wait are you trying to say that playing with Marty and Elaine is a drag or something?"















"Well its not exactly what I had in mind you know, I mean I can really play, I would much rather be rocking out like you guys."

"You sound pretty ungrateful there new guy. Marty and Elaine are the real shit bro. I don't think you realize how lucky you are to be playing with them."

"You're fucking with me right?"

"Oh you'll know when I'm fucking with you and if you're unsure just ask me and will I tell you. I'm not kidding bass boy."

Rene sat in stunned silence.

"Listen man me and buddies want another round, why don't you go and get us three more."

The drummer leaned forward in his seat and Rene disappeared from his view. Rene got up from the table and went back over to the bar. He put on his best ruler of the world face and waved Jerry over.

"How'd it go over there hanging with the rock star."

"Did you see him toast me?"

"Yeah I saw."

"Hey can I get three more of those tequilas."

"Only three? What no second toast?"

"I gotta slow down. I don't want to get shit hammered, we haven't even played a set yet."

"This from the guy who told me that the booze never gets to him."

"Aw shit Jerry can you just get the shots they're waiting on me."

"Alright but bring back the money and don't sweat them too hard for a tip."

Jerry went behind the bar and made a tray of tequila shots and handed it over to Rene.

"Those shots are twenty five bucks a piece, that's seventy five dollars Rene and you better bring it all back to me."

"What like I'm going to bail out of here with their seventy five bucks, shit Jerry."

"Seventy five dollars Rene."

Rene took the tray over to the rock drummer and his two friends.

"Here you go guys."















The drummer didn't acknowledge him so Rene placed the tray on the table and stood there looking for all the world like the last kid picked for a baseball game. He got the hint after an uncomfortable moment or two that he wouldn't be invited to sit back down. The drummer picked up his drink then looked over to Rene.

"Thanks for buying the drinks pal, see you up on stage."

Rene backed away from the rockstar's table and started to walk through the bar back to Sal's office to get his kick down. Jerry was kneeling getting a bottle out of the freezer when he peered over the bar and saw Rene walk by out the corner of his eye.

"Hey Buddy where're you going."

Rene stopped in his tracks and came back to Jerry. As if a switch had been flipped Rene was his old swaggering self.

"Where's the seventy five Rene?"

"Oh I forgot."

Rene took out the thousand dollars from his pocket and peeled a hundred off the top and handed it to Jerry.

"Jesus Rene what the fuck is up with all that cash?"

"Oh nothing."

"Didn't you just tell me earlier you were broke and that your car was fucked."

"That was earlier."

Jerry went to the cash register and paid for the shots and returned with the change. Rene put his hand out to take the twenty five bucks.

"No way Rene that was Sheri's table. I told you not to pimp them for a tip this is hers."

"Whatever Jerry."















Rene turned and strode off towards Sal's office. It was time for a kick down and he'd be damned if he was going to share it with that asshole drummer or Jerry.

A Redux On The Wind

The concrete of the curb was hard and through his true-fit Haggar slacks he could feel the coarseness of the mineral aggregate used in it's making, the thin fabric of his pants doing little in keeping the cold out. It was a still moonless night and everything seemed as if locked away in it's own private world. The street light shown hard into the street but even in the late of night he sat shaded under the canopy of a tree.

What else was left? What could he do? He lifted the pen and began...
















Dearest Ones,

I almost wanted to start this letter by addressing it to, To whom it may concern, because it may concern you, it surely concerns me. I have peered into the deep dark truthful mirror and do not like what I have seen. I don't know if I need to apologize but I know I need to say something. You see I think I have erred in my words and though I never wanted to hurt you, I never would, a part of me feels that I have.

I have said some things over the last few days that I wish I could take back but they have been said and are now part of me and as painful as it is I must own them and be responsible to them. You mean so much to me and it destroys me to know that an act of my doing could bring upon you a sadness I never intended.

You see I need you. Each day you come to me and then I know I'm not alone.

I am not trying to make excuses but there is a part of me that even I can't fathom. There is a schism in my psyche and though I am aware of it, I find that at times I am unable to contain it. It is this part of my mind I wish to shelter you from but I fear that is beyond my power. I said I would always be truthful, and you know I have never lied to you but when I say those hurtful things, the things that make you cry, then I wish I was a mute unable to voice even the sweetest of conceits.

If you just give me one more chance, if you can see it in your heart not to judge me too harshly then I will find the strength to persevere. Tomorrow I'll get back to The Dresden and resurrect that fable for you. If you'll let me.

You needn't answer me I just needed to say this to you.

Love,

Erich















Erich stood from the curb and walked down the street. He had written his letter and he walked to the house on the left and approached the door. A dog barked loud and nearly scared him from his delivery but he was undeterred. He creased the paper into three folds then slipped it in under the door.

Erich moved quietly from the house and then into the street. The street light was bright to his eyes casting all he could see in an orange surreal light. He would make it home that late night and as he slipped into his sleep those images, that split in him, that ugliness, danced in him and he prayed for those thoughts to be expelled, to be taken from him.

Its Gone

Small victories amidst the catastrophes. Every truth is a victory but the lies keep mounting in an unstemmable tide. Everywhere he looked he saw deceit.














Those eyes pinned in bold faced contradiction to the protestations smoothly offered. It will be there in the morning as the night closes in and then the earth rotates on it's axis three more times. I'd love to go and then wasn't it fun you should have been there. A deluge of falsity and misdeed. The dyke was gone and he was left standing with his finger in the air wondering why he was wet.

Mitch had been loaded since before time began. The cops frowned hard when they stopped him driving against traffic on the 405. There were only rims where his tires had once been by the time he had sense to yield not that he would notice such a thing his perception so totaled by colonopin and dope. The lawyer dusted Mitch off good for his court appearance and the judge, stymied, looked at the lawyer's fine suit and said one more chance. One more chance to get loaded. One more trip to the desert because this time it was going to work. Four months of righteousness and line toeing. Back in the world one more week of being clear eyed. Then the lies. Like an avalanche swallowing up everyone he touched. So tired from work you know that must be it. I just fell asleep sorry I didn't make it. Can I sleep on your couch? No.














Beryl had seen his 86th birthday come and go. His minor stroke during his 85th annum had slowed him up but he was unexpectedly steady on his feet once again . The wreck he drove around town was only good for collecting parking tickets. What little money he did have went to subsidizing the City of Los Angeles. Then his son pulled the plug. No more wreck, no more driving it isn't safe, I'll drive you. The keys were exchanged and the tow service gave them twenty bucks and it was gone. I love the bus it keeps me young. I love to talk to all the people. I'll take a cab they give me free vouchers. My girlfriend will give me a ride. I will lie bold faced to my son. He had been found out. What was the bigger fraud, Beryl and his thieving 40 year old bi-polar girlfriend or the old man surreptitiously owning a car? The windfall settlement was gone and he was tapped. He had been found out. He had driven away his money. His every word reeking of mendacity.

The government fell in line. So did the clergy. The gas stations proudly displayed their bile on signs lit at night lest anyone escape their spuriousness. Polar Bears. Enron. Halliburton. High fructose corn syrup.

Oh I don't mind where we eat. That didn't hurt my feelings are you kidding? I'm doing great thanks for asking. He won't mind. I'm 32. I'm busy maybe some other time. I'm married. I left it outside your door. I didn't move my ball. I read the whole series. I really like being alone it gives me time to do my own work. I'll be okay. There is always tomorrow.
















I can't be bothered. I'll do it another time. There's nothing I can do. It's someone else's problem. Leave me alone I'm fine. Leave me alone I'm fine. Leave me alone I'm fine.

...hold me...

The Good Feeling Is

"We are going to have to ask you to leave."

Andrew Greycrine was caught unawares, off guard and though he was seated, flat footed. As far as he knew he had been sitting peaceably minding his own business, at least that was what he hoped his exterior portrayed but in his mind, his imagination, that private place, he was anything but. Andrew was a unique sort and skilled at masking his true self.

"Excuse me" he protested.

"Sir please do me a favor and just leave." Andrew looked up at the girl from the Starbucks in her little brown uniform, 'probably some ego inflated bitch', he thought, who stood flanked by two men also in that same humiliating manner of dress.

"What right do you have to kick me out? I paid for this coffee."















"I'm sorry to disagree, but we have every right to ask you to leave and in the half hour you have been here we have received four complaints about you, so why don't you just get up and go?" The girl stammered, obviously upset by the situation.

Andrew was calm and unemotional as he looked for a way to diffuse his circumstance. 'She is just jealous, the little whore', his mind spun, 'I bet her little undies are creased crusty and stained beyond repair. I bet those two guys would love to see me bend her over, I'd rip her in two, there would be blood, oh yes there would, and a lot of it, I'd smear that blood over those two fuckheads she's with, I'd blast one on her and force them to lick her clean those stupid fucks'. Andrew didn't move.

When he had arrived earlier, Andrew had ordered an Americano and then had taken a seat near the rear of the shop, by the tables and sofas. He had placed a newspaper on his lap, never once even pretending to be at all interested in it, and then sat, sat and watched. Andrew watched the girls that would come into the Starbucks. The younger the better thought Andrew but he drew the line at prepubescence, this he rationalized separated him form those real sad case sick perverts.

Taking slow sips of his coffee, his head as if on a mechanized turret, Andrew's eyes would scan the room and then they would alight on the prettiest girl he could find. He would bore holes into them. He would start with a stare and then without his knowledge a lurid smile would paste itself across his mad countenance. Obscene visions, violent scenarios, and episodes of sexual rhapsody would consume him. The first girl was a blonde with waist length hair, she was young, in her twenties, fresh skinned and when she first saw Andrew she briefly returned his harmless smile. She turned away but Andrew was locked on.

She was on her knees and that hair was wrapped around her neck and her shirt was torn off her shoulder. There were deep red scrapes running from her face to her chest and Andrew stood above her and spat with all his might into her face. His fist came down with force on the back of her head and she screamed for mercy. Then she looked at Andrew, picked up her coffee and hurriedly got up from her seat and left the store.

The two Korean high school girls sucked on their Frappacinos and giggled. Then Andrew fixed his stare. The girls were busy chatting and at first had no idea that they had been locked in Andrew's cellar. The coarse jute that bound their hands and feet cut into their soft young skin and the white rags that gagged them shown the blood from the fury of their abduction. Andrew threw a snake down through the hatch and watched as it slithered over their writhing bodies.

It was a non-stop orgy of brutality within Andrew Greycrine, unrestrained and uncompromising, and that smile, steadfast, fixed, frozen and maniacal. Some of the girls would never know the horror Andrew brought down upon them, they being oblivious to their surroundings, where others were chilled under his gaze, unblinking, unwavering, and being so unsettled by him reported their fears to the management.

"You have to leave now. You can not sit here like nothing is happening and ignore me any longer."














The manager stepped back and spoke to her two co-workers. Then the two men came and stood close to Andrew as the manager moved swiftly to the counter and then behind it. Andrew watched as she picked up the telephone and then spoke into it. 'She's probably calling her girlfriend to join her the slut', Andrew surmised.

The manager quickly returned.

"I've called the police so this is going to be your last chance to leave."

"I don't see what the big deal is?" Andrew protested. "But I can take a hint."

Andrew stood up as if nothing had happened.

"I'd like refill before I go please."

Andrew sat behind the wheel of his car then turned the ignition. 'I need something to put in my stomach. Maybe the Farmer's Market, that would be nice now wouldn't it Andrew? The Farmer's Market it is'.

Our Reason For Being

"You don't really do that shit do you?"

"I don't know if I would call it shit but yes I do."

"Oh great, my best old buddy has gone all goopy new age on my ass."















They had decided on the Rodeo Grill on Sunset near Alvarado in Echo Park. Two Bags had been on the road for the previous season and wanted some cheap Mexican as soon as he had landed. Casa Diaz was long closed so they chose to eat value Mexican and anyways the restaurant was a nice place to catch up. Two Bags had the enchiladas del pollo and Swenson opted for the huevos rancheros despite the late hour. There were only a few diners and they had their choice of seating. Sitting outside enjoying a smoke Swenson grilled Two Bags over something he had said earlier on the drive over.

"Make of it what you will."

"This aint the Two Bags I know."

"What makes you say that?"

"I don't know it just seems incongruous."

"I got to say I take some exception to you thinking me new age."

"Well isn't it new agey?"

"Bro, new agey connotates some half baked philosophical practice best exemplified by crystals and bad Yanni music and I'm not down with that shit in the least."

"But you are rolling with some spiritual tip are you not?"

"I don't know."

"Sounds pretty eastern you know. I mean you do know but you don't 'know', that kind of thing?"

"In some ways, but shit aint new agey."

"Alright already, I take back the new agey part."

"Okay. Now if you really want to know what the fuck I'm onto then I'll tell you but if you want to trot out all your preconceived notions of what you think I'm onto then let's just talk about movies or some other inconsequential bullshit."

"Didn't rub a raw nerve or anything did I?"

"Oh hell no. I'm cool with my thing and like I really care what anyone thinks, but being that we are tight bros from way back I'd rather you know what's going on with me."

"Yeah since you put it that way why don't you just shut me up and tell me what's what."

"Okay. Let me just say before I start that this shit I'm about to say applies to me only. It is my experience and no one else's and whether it works for anybody but me I can't say nor do I care to know. I'm just saying that this is how I'm living now."

"Cool."

"First let's go to the heart of the matter, the great divider, the topic of god. You see I don't believe or not believe. I feel any person who claims to have definitive knowledge one way or the other is a charlatan of no uncertain terms."

"Well I believe in god."

"You going to let me talk."

"Sorry. Go on."

"Like I was saying, anyone who can say absolutely that there is or there isn't a god is a fool for there is no way to really know, is there?"

"No answer please."

"Well done. You were tripped out because I said that I prayed all the time but that I didn't know if I really believed in a god right?"

"You are correct sir."















"Well I don't think the two things are mutually exclusive. I needn't believe in god to pray. I take an action and then whatever may be after that is out of my hands. If there is a god then all the better. If someone is trying to sell me their version of some micro managing deity on high, then I would be less then willing to take them seriously."

"You mean religion?"

"Exactly. For me god is no man's province. Beware the man who proclaims his religion loudly is my credo."

"The world would be better off without it for sure."

"No brainer. Back to prayer. I never pray for specific shit and I often cuss like a fool when I pray but to me the words I use mean nothing it is the intent in my heart, my soul. I have no empirical proof that prayer works but then again I don't have any proof to the contrary."

"I can see that."

"So many times I have prayed and shit has happened that has spun my head. Shit has come down so clean that you would think that there was a micro managing god. Now in reality it might have just been an eerie coincidence but then again maybe it wasn't. The breakthrough I have had is that it doesn't really matter one way or the other. When I pray I feel better and my life improves, simple as that. That I try to find a logic behind it is counterproductive and just a plain waste of time. Just like astrology, if that shit is real great, who fucking cares. If the shit is written in the stars then who the fuck cares because it is already written and my lack of belief in it was probably written in the stars too, so why even bother?"

"Man you must have spent a few alone nights to get all this straightened out in your head."

"So I pray all the time. To who or what I don't know. I never ask for myself but only for others. I pray for you."

"You do?"

"Don't get a big head."

"I'll try."

"It all boils down to faith."

"Faith, you gotta have..."

"George Michael, how clever are you?"

"Sorry."

"I have faith that my prayers work. Maybe not for the people that I pray for but for me. I pray and my life is better. The quantum mechanics guys are always talking about the physiological benefit of prayer, strengthening synapses that carry positive thought, then atrophying the ones that carry the negative. All that really means nothing to me, its all just words on paper. All I have is my personal experience"

"Kinda makes sense in a roundabout fucked up sort of way."














"Like I say just my experience and mine only."

"Since you don't ask for yourself, next time you pray a Porsche would be nice."

Lest We Forget

There it was, that knocking again. Incessant and steady, rhythmic and resounding then nothing again. Once more the banging and clanging resumed and continued unabated for a period far extended past any of the previous. As an experiment he closed his eyes and thought to make the pressure mounting behind his eyes succumb. First one lid then the other slowly lowered over god's windows until...














Space darkened but not dark. Points of light darting about, refracting colors and shifting shapes to formations and then to forms. The clamor increased and with it measured pain. He attempted to open his eyes but they were welded shut, tight to the outer world, forcing the blinding phantasmagoria back into his head and exponentially inviting the pain to intensify.

The fortification, synapses tangled and meshed, built unevenly, repelled the onslaught. Spiraled acumunations of poisoned energy stabbed and made battle with the now wavering abatis. There was no strategy for his defense, there was nothing to do but accept.

There was no more looking for answers it was well past all that. It was his mind that was under assault and it was his mind that had initiated the besiegement. It had started with a little lie, just an inconsequential mistelling of an unassuming bit of information. The kernel, the seed of that misdeed, had surreptitiously taken root and under it's own thewiness thrived sub rosa.















Feeding on the vein of self doubt left healthy by years of exercise the roots now deep furrowed began to squeeze tight constricting any and all natural disburdening. Now the collapse was no longer imminent but upon him. The pressure expanded balloon like and his ears ceased all functioning. A numbness raced down his arm and to rubbery fingers. A sickening vertigo caused his stomach to roil and his ability to form cognizant thought was waylaid by the physicality of his condition.

Great washes of terror broke over him and sweat, cold and greasy, covered him soaking his hair into a dull vinegary mat. The lie, the lie, the lie. It sat there in the center of it all and there was no escape. Every made thought was bad and swirled with vorticity around the lie. Collapsing under it's own weight his mind fell in upon itself. There would be no getting out, there was no bottom, only an eternal descent to the unknown.














"Can you hear me?"

"Can you hear me?"

No Go Mister Cadet

'I crashed in the jungle
While tryin' to keep a date
With my little girl'
















Meanwhile back in Los Feliz:


"Hey Emma how ya doing?"

"Oh, hi Erich. Such a undue pleasure to get a call from you."

"You don't have to crank up the sarcasm dial so soon do ya?"

"I'm just saying."

"I know I haven't been the best at staying in touch, my sincerest apologies."

"Oh shit an apology so fast. What do you need?"

"Oh that's not fair. You think because you haven't heard from me in a while and I call its because I need something?"

"Tell me I'm wrong."

"Okay you're right."

"That's better."


'So I thumbed down a whale who was headin' my way
And I reached the states in 'bout a half a day'


Meanwhile back in Los Feliz:


"Well I was just wondering if you could do a little recon for me?"

"When have I ever denied you anything?"

"True, true. This is a little sticky seeing as how we used to be, you know..."

"Get over it. That was a very long time ago and I think we are well past all that."

"Right, right, great. Okay, so here goes, there is this girl."

"How old?"

"Geez, I don't know."

"Young right?"

"I don't know, really. Well she isn't old if that's what you mean."

"Are you saying I'm old?"

"Hey now."

"Okay, okay, stop being so sensitive Emma I get it. So who is she?""

"That's it, I don't know and I need you to do some research for me."


'And when I got to lovers lane I was almost dead
When my soul was gone, here's what I said'

















Meanwhile back in Los Feliz:



"What makes you think I know her?"

"You might not but I know that someone you know does."

"Who?"

"Double J., I saw them talking the other night."

"So what do you want to know?"

"The usual shit, you know like you said, is she age appropriate? Is she a bunny boiler? Is she taken? Just all the shit I guy needs to know before he commits himself 'cause you know how I am."

"Oh I know how you are, 'nice shoes - will you marry me', I know"

"Exactly so you see forewarned is forearmed."

"Alright I'll call Double J. and call you right back."

"Might I comment on your ultimate awesomeness."

"Goes without saying. I'll call you right back."

Click.


'Baby, baby, let's make romance
You know your old time lover hasn't got a chance
He's stranded in the jungle flat as he can be'



Meanwhile back in Los Feliz:



"So?"

"Red light."

"Really?"

"That's what Double J. said."

"Any specifics?"

"No. Double J. said she couldn't break a confidence. You know Double J. wouldn't say it if it weren't true, not like Erica who would thumbs down any girl you were interested in just because she doesn't like any girls."

"Oh well, had to try."

"Double J. said there were plenty of other girls she could set you up with."

"You know I don't work that way."

"I know, that's what I told her."


'The boys in the jungle had me on the run
When something heavy hit me like an atomic bomb
When I woke up and my head started to clear'

















Meanwhile back in Los Feliz:



"Listen, you know we're still on the books to get married in, what is it now, fifteen years?"

"So soon? How the time doth fly."

"Sorry it didn't work out."

"I know you are."

"My offer still stands."

"Fifteen years right."

"Right. Fifteen years."



'Baby, baby, your man is no good
Baby, baby, he should've understood
You can trust me as long as can be
So come back pretty baby where you used to be
'Cause I love you, I love you.'

May I Cheat You Please

We are sorry to report that Marty and Elaine have filed an injunction against the further detailing of their exploits and until all the legalities can be settled, our counsel assures us it shouldn't be but a week, the saga of the 'Hey Didn't They Film Swingers Here?' crew will have to temporarily be put on hiatus.

The Board of Directors truly appreciates your patience in this matter and would like all to know that everything in their power, both financial and legal, is being done to protect the rights of Sufferwords in his struggle to pursue the true story of Marty and Elaine.

In an effort to alleviate the inconvenience caused you the Board has authorized a one time payment to Sufferwords to insure early delivery of Monday's regularly scheduled chapter of Master Butterfly Eats Yesterday.

We would appreciate your prayers in helping us resolve this shocking injustice. With our belief in the court system of The United States of America and the health of our Second Amendment rights we look forward to a positive response from the courts in this case.

Yours truly,

E. Von Stroheim

Chairmen of the Board

Master Butterfly Eats Yesterday

There Is Acid In My Heart - I Need You

"I'm getting sleepy."

"Jackson, why don't you just go home and go to bed then?"

"What and leave this fabulous vampire race course? Don't tempt me."















"You don't have to be facetious I was just showing some concern for your well being. You always go home early."

"Right, sorry. Its just that I feel like Cinderella. The clock strikes midnight and I must vanish or else I'll be found out to be a fraud, turn into a veritable pumpkin."

"You do?"

"Mishima did that."

"Who did what?"

"The Japanese author Yukio Mishima, Sea of Fertility ring a bell, maybe Runaway Horses? Well he used to be known as Cinderella?"

"Why's that?"

"Well he lived a double life, you know, straight man with wife and kids but he was also gay and into some strange practices."

"Like what?"

"Well they say he used to like to be bound hands and feet to the legs of an overturned coffee table and...well...you know."

"So where does the Cinderella part come in?"

"Well Mishima wrote every night, I mean to say the guy was prolific is like saying Hank Aaron hit a few home runs, the volume of his work was immense, and the bastard never rewrote or edited a single page. He would write between the hours of midnight and four A.M. every day."

"Right and?"

"Geez be patient. They called him Cinderella because when it would approach midnight, wherever he was or whatever he was doing he would just disappear and go home and write."

"What a freak."














"I don't know, I'm not into gay activity. I don't have anything against it mind you, it is just that I wasn't born with that predilection."

"Never said you were."

"As for the Cinderella part, I find myself out in the world, rubbing against the people and all, then it starts to get late and I just have to go home and be productive."

"You see I wasn't born with that particular, as you say, predilection."

"You know me and Mishima are not the only ones to have felt this way."

"Which way? Gay?"

"I thought we went over that already?"

"Okay, then what? Like Cinderella?"

"Of course that's what I meant. The story of Cinderella first appeared in the 'Miscellaneous Morsels from Youyang', written by Duan Chengshi during the Tang Dynasty in China around A.D. 860.

"Oooh, 860 A.D., impressive fact."

"The best known version was written by the French author, Charles Perrault in 1697, then the mouse made it a big deal with that cartoon."

"Great so you know your facts. Seems like you have thought about this a little bit."

"So you see the point is that those folks must have identified with what was probably a folk tale even before Chengshi first wrote it down. It must be a universal conceit, that tug and pull of going out into the world but having to return to your real life before you are found out for what you really are, as if there is some shame in being who you truly are. Its like being at a party and talking a big game but in reality you are just another schmo so you bail before you can be exposed. The magic of the tale and the reason I think it holds such sway with the many generations it has affected is that promise of acceptance, of triumph, once our true colors are laid bare."

"Your shoes don't cut it."

"Huh?"

"You're not wearing glass slippers...oh I get it, like feet of clay, the whole shenanigans is built on a fragile foundation."














"Maybe? Good interpretation, bad joke. I'm going home. My coach awaits."

"I'll tell the prince where to find you."

"I thought we went over that already?"

I Just Want To Go Inside And Write

They sat enjoying the evening. Hal's order of fish and chips swam in malt vinegar and everyone knew that Rachel, who ordered the ham and eggs breakfast with a side of french toast and strawberries, wouldn't eat more then a bite of her food. They were all young enough, vibrant and good looking in a non presupposing way. They talked like a group of friends do and for the most part it was just another mellow evening in the neighborhood. After the check had been passed around, and as is the way among real friends, there was plenty more then enough for a big tip, they said their farewells, hugged and punched knuckles and then made their own ways off into the night.

Erich V. hopped on his Vespa, popped in his ipod headphones, put his helmet on then rode east on Russell. He made the right at Hillhurst, dodging a drunk coming from the Ye Rustic Inn, then continued south to Clayton. He made the left there then guided the Vespa up a driveway and on to the sidewalk which he rode to the corner at Rosalia Road making the right there. He continued on the sidewalk for four doors then pulled into the walk up to his apartment. As it flared across the green of the lawn in front of his apartment building the beam of the Vespa caught a prone figure lying in the grass next to the steps with it's back to him. The seat of the pants of the prone figure had been recently stained by what he presumed was urine. He rolled the bike onto the grass and shown the light on the person.

"Hey, hey you. You can't sleep here."

There was no response.

"Are you alright? Can you speak?"

"The figure rolled over a little. A black hooded sweatshirt covered it's face.

"I asked you with if you were okay?"

He rolled the Vespa back and parked it on the walkway to his apartment then walked back to the figure.

"I asked you if you were okay... you know you can't sleep here."

Still there was no response. It was strange for he was calm and felt no aggression to this person. In the past he usually would have thought to chase this person away with some finality but tonight he felt none of this anger or most likely that anger's real cause; fear. The figure rolled over some more. It was hard to tell if it was a man or a woman. He walked closer and saw that it might more possibly be a woman. He calmed even further.

"What's your name?"

The figure stayed with it's back to the street barely looking over at him.

"Do know where you are?"

"I'm not drunk."

"I didn't say you were. I was just asking if you knew where you were. Well do you?"

"Yeah , I'm in Hollywood"

"No, you're in Los Feliz. Do you know how you got here?"

"No."

"What's your name?"

"Lucy."















"Lucy are you in trouble?"

"No."

Erich thought for a minute. He really didn't care if Lucy slept there all night or not but being that she had no idea where she was or how she had gotten there he decided he should call the police. She had wet herself and looked cold, she would only get colder on the damp grass as the night was cooling down in earnest and he couldn't abide that notion.

"Hello, 911."

"I have a disoriented person sleeping on the front yard of my apartment."

The call went on for a brief time and he was assured that a patrol car would be dispatched.

As they sat waiting for the police he offered a smoke which she inhaled as if it were life sustenance.

"Do you have anywhere to go?"

She didn't answer.

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-nine."

"Where you from?"

"Washington D.C."

"You got people there."

"No, not really."

Erich reconsidered his calling of the police. Maybe he should just give her a twenty and send her on her way?

"You know winter is coming and you should think about where you are going to sleep, its going to start to get real cold and sleeping in wet grass can't be very good for you."

Erich felt the fool. Who was he to give her any advice? Didn't she have it hard enough as it was. He lit her another smoke and handed it to her. They sat in silence as he waited for the police to arrive and she, well, she just waited, not even realizing that the police had been summoned.

It had been ten minutes or so and he made a deal with himself, if the police didn't arrive in three more minutes he would give her the twenty and send her on her way,y or really if she had chosen to so, she could just sleep where she was. He thought to offer her a cup of hot tea but then thought better of it. A minute later the police arrived. He walked to the street and waved them down. Erich felt odd. For once he was the one calling the police and as he filled them in he made sure not to paint too ugly a picture of his motivation. It was his concern for her safety that had truly prompted the call and he wanted to make sure they knew that.

The police shined their flashlights on Lucy and began to ask her routine questions.

"What's your name?"

She didn't respond.

"What's your name?"

"Jesse."

The police asked her primarily the same questions that Erich had asked and with not much better results. They asked her to stand, which she did so unsteadily, belying her claim to Erich that she was not intoxicated.

"Well Jesse you can't stay here. You are going to have to move on. It is against the law to sleep on someone's property so you can't stay here."

Erich took the twenty from his pocket and moved between the two policemen and handed it to Jesse. Jesse stood there dazed, not knowing where to go.

"Okay Jesse. Thank the man and be on your way."

Jesse turned and took three steps down the street, turned around, came back and stood there. She was silent, then she turned once more and walked shakily off the stain visible in her pants as she did so.

Erich and the cops stood there and watched her go.

"You'll see a lot more of this now that they are cleaning up downtown. They have changed the laws so there isn't much we can do. It is no longer against the law to urinate in public, sleep on the sidewalk so you'll just have to put up with it."

"I really didn't mind her sleeping on the lawn I was just concerned for her safety. I mean she didn't know where she was or how she got here."

"I hear you. Have a good night sir. Sorry for the trouble."














As Erich entered his apartment he couldn't help but to feel a little gratitude. He would sleep in his own bed that night. The cops had wished him a good night. He only wished Jesse know this feeling some day. One can wish can't they?"

The Sheep Wear The Emperor's New White Shoes

"I never thought of it that way."

"Thanks."

"Did you come up with that theorem yourself?"














"I really don't know if I have ever conceived of or as you might say, come up with anything all by myself but if you mean to say, is this an original concept, then I highly doubt it. I have never heard it expressed in these specific terms before but I am sure if it is indeed a valid interpretation of the supposition then someone somewhere must have posited it well in advance of me."

"I see?"

"Don't give me undeserved credit but take this idea and formulate your own understanding then put it to use in your own world."

"But to say that being passive aggressive is just another form of reverse psychology is somewhat revelatory as far as I am concerned."

"I think they exist entirely in the same realm."

"I agree. In both cases the action taken is to elicit a response opposite of the stated intention. When someone says they want something but in reality they really don't, and in hoping that in saying so that they will be rebuked, they are in fact being both passive aggressive and are reversing the psychology."

"Thank you. I appreciate your supporting my work."

"Not to play Devil's advocate but I can see where this idea might prevail in many situations but then again the science of such a construct might become unsound when applied to more diverse applications."

"In what way?"

"Perhaps in a controlled test setting there may be divergent motivations, where one actually is being passive aggressive only to exert their will in trying to inflict an emotional toll without really wanting the subject to change their position vis-a-vi one who truly states the opposite of their intention hoping to change the subjects primary and initial reaction."

"Really?"

"It is only sound science."

"Point taken."

"I have reviewed your test results and they seem to hold up to scrutiny but some of the methodology is muddled and hard to discern."

"There must be a fatal flaw in my hypothesis."

"I didn't say that."

"But you said the test results are not above board so the theory itself is suspect."

"No I didn't."

"I will have to start all my research over from scratch."

"No you don't."

"Your wrong. I do."

"You don't have to start all over again. Your work is sound and your theory is ready to be presented."















"I don't think so."

"I do."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm positive."

"I guess I am as well. Thanks for helping with my study."

After Hours At The Elysium

The day had yet to begin. It was really still early morning, not the youthful hours of the afternoon that usually masqueraded as the time to rise from bed. The phone rang loudly and he thought, 'what the hell', and answered it.














"Yeah."

"Hey its Bucky."

"What the fuck are you calling me for?"."

"Greenie's house is burning down can you come get us?"

"Really? Shit, I'll be right there."

He nudged the wife awake and let her know it was time to get a move on.

"Greenie's house is on fire. We got to go get them."

They did the last of the nights stash, a paltry amount, enough to qualify for a wake up but not much more. They threw on whatever clothes happened to be lying closest to the bed, they didn't care, they were young, beautiful and strung to the gills, then went downstairs and got into the Bronco II.

It was a calm ride under the circumstances as they drove west on the Sunset Strip making the right turn on Kings Road and then up into the Hollywood Hills. Maybe it was the time of day or the sheer absurd nature of their endeavor, perhaps the fact that the drugs had made them jaded to everything, but for whatever reason to say they were nonplussed would have been a gross understatement.

Events had held little sway in their importance for some time. 'So and so died', 'that's a drag, when is Maria coming by?'. There were no seasons and the shifting cast of characters all shared an impermanence and transitory importance that could be extinguished on any day. So and so was there one day and never to be seen the next. There was a small group of them that interacted but mainly only concerning their primary pursuit. There were a select number who could have made that call to rouse them from their bed. A very select few, and so they went.














As they neared the end of Hollywood Blvd they were confronted by the sight of the fire trucks surrounding Greenie's cliff dwelling home. The house itself was a modified A-frame with a rear deck that rose on stilts above the Hollywood hillside. The firemen were serious in their business running back and forth with hatchets and hoses. Smoke rose high into the sky and the conflagration was doing it's best not to succumb to the firemen's will.

They sat in the Bronco II and watched as Greenie and Bucky stumbled down the driveway. They exited as the two made it down the steep drive. Bucky and Greenie looked no worse for the wear but that wasn't saying much either for they were worse for the wear. Their hair unkempt with clothes that looked as if they were running from a burning building which in fact was their de rigueure manner of dress even in less formidable times.

Bucky spoke first in a unhurried blase manner.

"Hey we have to get out of here before the cops show up."

"What happened?" The couple asked.

Greenie looked around his eyes making contact with anything but what was in front of them and answered.

"The fairies started a fire. I was on the couch and I could hear them in the kitchen. They have been making trouble all week and I think they got mad at me."

"Okay, okay, but we really should get out of here. Let's go to Canter's."

All agreed that the best thing to do while Greenie's house was burning down was to go and get a delicious early morning repast at the local deli. It was simple and made perfect sense. What better thing to do?

The mood in the car on the ride down the hill was surreal. This calamity was nothing out of the ordinary as far as any of them could tell. So the fairies burnt Greenie's house down, yeah and so what. What else did fairies do but wreak havoc and burn houses down? Maybe Greenie shouldn't have been so mean to them. Now no one but Greenie believed any of this but really what was the sense in disagreeing? If he said the fairies started the fire then who were they to contest him? The house was gone and so now it was time to eat.

They pulled into the parking lot at Canter's on Fairfax and got out of the Bronco II.

"I need to get some money from the ATM" said a seemingly lucid Greenie.

"I'll go with him" he said.

Bucky and the wife walked off saying they'd get a table and meet them inside.

As they walked to the ATM Greenie stopped every fifteen steps and would take off his shoe and bang it on the sidewalk.

"Damn fairies, I still have some in my shoes. Its hard to get rid of them and I don't want to take them to the next place."














At Canter's they all ate their fill. Bucky had his grilled cheese and watermelon, the wife a bagel and cream cheese, Greenie had the blintzes and he had lox, eggs and onions. Just another meal at the Jew factory. Just another day.

You Sit And Sit Some More Then It's Over

"Excuse me sir but are you okay?"

"Yes. Thank you for asking dear."

"Do you know where you are going?"

"No, not really."

"Are you lost?"

"I'm not sure but if you mean do I know where I am, then yes. We're at the corner of Santa Monica and Vine traveling eastbound."

"You sure you're okay?"

"Yes I'm fine."















The young central American lady smiled then moved down the aisle of the bus and joined what he assumed was her family. He didn't have much family and the family he did have, his kids, his sister, had all moved far out of state and rarely if ever visited him. The bus lurched a little then shuttered as it left the curb. It was true he didn't really know where he was going, he was just riding the bus, it was better then the endless solitude that would ensnare him if he were to let it. The city made it easy for him, a senior and well beyond that, his monthly bus pass cost him next to nothing. On his last trip to visit, a few years back, his son had taken his car and driving privileges away. He missed driving the most. The rest of being old didn't really bother him but
he missed the freedom of driving so he now rode the bus.

There was no destination in mind really. He might get off downtown and walk around and remember the days of his youth though nothing much remained there of those days. He liked to be around people. He liked to engage them in conversation though most were unwilling to do so with an unfamiliar old man. He especially loved babies and would often reach down and touch them, much to the chagrin of the parent. He meant no harm. He just wanted more. More life, more contact.

His own grandchildren never called. They had no idea who their grandfather was. To them he was just an old man they had to suffer the every few years they were forced to accompany their parents on a plane trip. These meetings usually consisted of a quick meal at a mid level restaurant or when he could still drive a mere visit while his family waited between planes at the airport. He remembered once driving six hours to visit his then teenage son who was in Yosemite with friends only to be rebuffed and sent the six hours back. He didn't fault them. He understood. It wasn't always that way but age had given him a certain insight, a hard won wisdom, and he now knew it was never anyone's fault. The bus rode on.















Groups of noisy teenagers, worker's dirty from a day on the job, the handicapped and obese got on and off in a beautiful procession of life. He took it all in. He had walked in this world, had lived among these people for eighty six years and he wanted back in. The world spun around him as if in fast motion and he quietly watched it go by. He got off the bus at Alvarado then boarded another to Sunset. He didn't mind waiting for the bus he was always waiting. A life of waiting.

On Sunset he took a break at a little streetside cafe. The traffic rushed by in front of him and at the other tables youngsters, for they were all youngsters to him, ate and talked, fell in love, argued the days events and lived. He had been seated for a good long while when the harried waitress, a cute girl in her early twenties, finally approached him.

"What can I get you?"

"You know I used to have an office right up the street here. Me and Manny...Manny Farber that's it, we..."

"Would you like a coffee to start?"

"That would be nice thank you. We were in the advertising business we..."

"I'm sorry I'm really busy. I'll be right back with your coffee."

"Oh I'm sorry I didn't..." she was gone before he could finish the sentence.

He sat and remembered how he and Manny used to live in that office. The kids were babies and he and Manny struggled to hustle up work. They were never too successful but the kids were fed and relatively well provided for. He was lost in those days when the waitress returned to his table with his coffee.















"Here's your coffee sir."

Then she pulled the chair out opposite him and sat down.

"You were saying?"

"What?"

"About how you used to have an office here with.. Manny was it?"

"Right Manny Farber."

Joey Why Did You Have To Go

Yeah yeah she's my girl
Yeah yeah she's my girl

When I see her on the street
You know she makes my life complete
And you know I told you so

She's the one
She's the one














November warm, if it were February the faults would be snapping. The moon just waning from a full weekend, the fire born deep inside, it's smoldering embers ready to reignite. You wish it were Jersey in the 60's standing the three of you in front of the pizza place shooting the shit. Neon lights flood your peripheral vision and you are men, not tough guy but tough enough to break open.

"Yeah I went to the thing at the Skidmore the other night."

"How was it?"

"Like the high school reunion I would have had if I had actually gone to high school."

"How were the photos?"

"Fucking amazing."

They all reached for smokes and lit them not because they wanted to but because it was what they did. It was one thing to look cool and another to be cool. They were well passed worrying about it and therefore had actually achieved it.

"There were so many great shots, some as big as billboards."

"Were you in any of them?"

"No but I made into a journal entry of hers that was on display, rather incriminating but you know."

"Hell I aint got any secrets either."

"Me neither."

"It was awkward though seeing all these people and not quite remembering their names."

"I hate that."

"Me too."

"For me its strange because I have a shitty memory to start with then put me in a room with people I haven't seen in twenty years and well let's just say I was scrambling trying not to offend anyone."

He was remembering that night but not in the way his friends were prompting him to. It too had been an unseasonably warm Santa Ana fueled night and the moon had been full in earnest on that eve. Then there was the girl. Amidst the revelers he couldn't stop staring at her. She wasn't stop the presses beautiful but there was something, that thing that made it impossible to approach her, though after much balking and false starts, he finally managed to do so. He knew as soon as his speech became awkward, each word ringing in his ears, weighted, unnatural, that there was something real about this girl. This was not a new feeling but a rare one not experienced since his last love. He made foolish small talk and then she was off, friend beckoned, back into the gallery. He was taken. Grabbing his dear lost girlfriend from those long ago wall depicted days he demonstrably encouraged her sage guidance.

"You have to see this girl and tell me if she is right for me you know how bad I am at seeing these things and after all these years you know better then I what is good for me."

"Where is she?"

"She was just here. I think she went back inside."

"Show her to me you know I'll tell you the truth. Is she too young for you?"

"That's what I need you to figure out for me."

They rushed in the gallery, his dear friend beautiful in the here and now and beautiful in her photographic depiction blown up beyond reality looking down upon them from the walls. They went from room to room.

"Is that her?"

"No."

"Good that would have been awful."

"Thanks."

They went to another room.

"Is that her?"

"Are you joking me what do you think I am a pederast?"

They finished their loop of the gallery but she was gone. It was a lost cause. He kicked himself. 'Damn I should have been more forward or less forward or more charming or not as slimy or...or...', she was gone.

The pizza shop was shutting down and they had locked down the corner of Alvarado and Sunset for over more than an hour.
They lit another smoke but he still somewhere deep down couldn't shake those feelings left by the full moon girl. He had been that way for the two days since he had seen her, haunted, jazzed and wondering. Then in the dark of a late night Sunset Blvd., the three of them just kicking it, a girl on a fixed sprocket bike made a cautious stop at the red light. His eyes, not the best, were now just plain deceiving him. What really were these odds calculated at?

He stared hard and took a leap of faith and shouted out her name, he wouldn't have ever forgotten her name. She turned around and shouted over to him...

"Hey didn't I just meet you?"

"C'mon over here" he called back to her and so she did.

His imagination was now being witnessed by his friends. The four of them began to talk. He saw her upper lip glisten from the exertion from riding her bike, he saw her skin clear, her wide brown eyes, it hadn't been his imagination at all. He wouldn't let time slip him once more. He made strutting bold assertive talk yet her response was benign at best.

"Are you flirting?"

"Is that wrong?"

"I think so."

More talk and she was gone, with a inconclusive adieu, peddling off into the dark eastside night. He told his friends that she was the girl, she was the one.

What really were these odds calculated at?
















Yeah yeah she's my girl
Yeah yeah she's my girl

When I see her on the street
You know she makes my life complete
And you know I told you so

She's the one
She's the one

Hey Didn't They Film Swingers Here? Part XXXII

Marty and Elaine hadn't spoken for a silent long time. Marty was unaware, busy devouring his lamb and Elaine was busy not eating her meal, she was busy trying not to think. Rene wasn't due to come in for at least another hour and she had to have herself composed and ready to deal with him. She thought of just telling Marty everything and being done with it once and for all but she just couldn't bring herself to say those first words; I'm sorry.

Genevieve sauntered up to the table and saw the discrepancy between Marty and Elaine's plates.

"Was everything alright?"

"Amazing, Genevieve, did Hector have the night off or something?"

"Very funny Marty. What about you Elaine was it okay, you didn't eat much?"

"Watching my girlish figure."

"Oh, Elaine you look amazing what on ever are you talking about?"

"Thanks, I guess I just wasn't as hungry as I thought I was."

"Do you want me to take that away?"

"Thanks dear."

"Anything else."

"I'll have a coffee."

"Elaine? Coffee?"

"No I'm fine."

"Alright, back with your coffee in a sec Marty."

Genevieve removed their plates and traipsed off.

"No dessert dear?"

"Oh not for me. That lamb was like a dessert, I'm stuffed. I just hope I'm not so full by the time we start the show. Isn't Rene supposed to by here by nine?"

"He usually is unless you told him something different."

"I haven't spoken to him."

"Well I didn't say anything to him."

"I didn't say that you did."

Elaine thought she detected a sly accusation in Marty's tone but she thought best to let it slip by. Now wasn't going to be the time to discuss Rene, that conversation would come in it's own time. In the span of one afternoon Elaine had become guilt ridden and shameful. She could deal with her own secrets but now she had lost control of them. Elaine wanted to be rid of this life and be on to a new one. She dreamed of a new house, a new neighborhood and a new life for her and Marty. She would start anew and leave her ways behind like so much furniture left for the Salvation Army.

All Marty ever wanted was to play music. That it had come to this, playing covers in a restaurant to a crowd of drinkers more interested in the kitch value of his act, didn't bother him as much as it should. It was his bad luck that Elaine was the truely talented one in the act but at least it was all in the family. He had balked when it was suggested they take on a full time bass player but he was willing to make these concessions in order to continue with his life's passion. Music and Elaine, that was all he lived for.














Genevieve broke the tension by setting the coffee service before Marty.

"Here you go doll. You sure you don't want some dessert? I told Hector that you enjoyed the meal and he demanded you have some bread pudding."

Marty patted his belly and feigned an explosion from within.

"I couldn't eat another bite but tell that wonderful cook who has inhabited Hector's body to wrap it up and I'll take it home with me and have it later."

"Will do."

Rene sat at the end of the bar and finished the last of his scotch on the rocks. He really wanted another and was ready to call Jerry over when he overheard Sheri put in a cocktail order to Jerry.

"The Chili Pepper wants four shots of Herradura Seleccion Suprema."

Rene sprung from his seat. He all but had forgotten his rude interruption of Sheri's morning and wrapped himself in all the charm he could pretend to own.

"Hey Sheri let me deliver the tequila to that table."

Sheri was shocked to see him. She hadn't forgotten his unexpected intrusion but deep inside she was still on the fence concerning Rene and his motives.

"What are you talking about?"

"You can have the tip I just want to go over and say hello. Maybe he will sit in tonight."

"You're out of your mind Rene. That's my job. You can't just all of the sudden wait a table."

"Listen, I'm sorry about coming over to your place, really I am."

"I don't know?"

"Listen just let me go over there with you and you can just introduce me. That's not too much to ask now is it?"

"Are you really sorry?"

"Yeah. I should have called first. I just thought when you gave me your information, well I...most girls...shit, I'm just sorry if there was a misunderstanding."

"I don't remember giving you my address and phone number."

"You were a little, oh...let's just forget it okay."

"Alright, alright. I'm busy. Let's forget it and if you want to go over there with me there isn't a whole lot I can do to stop you."

Jerry poured tequila into four shot glasses and placed some lime wedges on a plate, put it all on a bar tray and then handed it to Sheri.

"Make sure Rene behaves Sheri."

"You make sure. I'm not taking any responsibilty."

"You two mellow out. I just want to say hello to the guy."

"Whatever." Sheri said and turned and walked towards the front of the bar with Rene right on her hip.

The drummer and his two friends were laughing uproariously as they approached.

"Herradura Seleccion Suprema."

Sheri placed the tray with the four shots on the table. The drummer handed one to each of his friends leaving one remaining.

"Miss can I interest you in a having a shot with us?"

"I'm sorry. That is a sweet offer but I think I over did it last night and I'm taking a break."

Rene edged out from behind Sheri and then was standing over the table.

"Oh and this is Rene he plays with Marty and Elaine."

"Really I didn't know they added a member to the act."

"I play the bass."

"I'll just add that to your tab, if you guys will excuse me?"

Sheri walked over to another table.

"I guess if you're standing there we might as well toast the newest member of the greatest act in the world, well second greatest anyways."

The drummer handed Rene the fourth shot then stood and encouraged his pals to do so as well. The all raised their glasses.

"A toast to the bass player."

The four men held their shots aloft and then quaffed them with robust gusto.














Elaine looked across the dining room to the bar just as Rene was biting into his lime wedge. When she saw him she became thirsty all over again. Oblivious to the goings on in the bar Marty nursed his coffee.

"Maybe I might have that bread pudding after all."

A Tale Best Left To The Mirror

You can hang it up there on a wall for all to see but you can never tell the whole story, no you can't. Eldon was a sweet Northwest kid unable to perch on that ledge, he stood there and watched the street below, he teetered there precariously, he weighed his chances, real and imagined and then he leapt. It was a long protracted descent fraught with unimaginable pain, public humiliation, misguided adoration, minor celebrity and finally a northbound freight train rushing on to a destination met him and then his journey was ended.














Mad Max fought down under for his wife and child and at the Van Nuys Drive-In, a van loaded with outcasts from various paths drank and drugged. Eldon was there, Press was there, J Finch, all of thirteen was there. Larry Talbot, the Back Fat Bimbo was there. The night turned into years and most were darker then any of those kids would have dared to have imagined. The web grew incredibly larger with the passing days trapping more young souls in that bewitching magnetic spiral. Snap. Snap. Snap. You can hang it up there on a wall for all to see but you can never tell the whole story.

Lives intersected with a limitless potential, for good, for bad, for creation, for tragedy. They were kids just trying to make right with existence. High in the alley, sick in the car. Standing on the stage, watch that stage collapse. Get high, stand up on the rubble, get knocked down again. Snap. Snap. Snap.














Fevered couplings and life long pacts made and broken with a dizzying and stupefying celerity. Boys in dresses and girls on the nod, Kraftwerk drunks on the abandoned downtown streets futures unsuspected nor attainable. Snap. Snap. Snap. You can hang it up there on a wall for all to see but you can never tell the whole story.

There were no stakes for there was no hope. What loss a time that may not exist? Divining like souls through cigarette smoke and needles, broken cars and lies to parents. Run, run run. Snap. Snap. Snap. Early evening mornings and Canter's dawn lunches, smoke, flash on the street, run, run, run. She's turning blue, what should I do? Hit her, hit her, scream that name to wake the dead, scream and hit, there you are. White then pink, run, run, run, do it again. Devastate his heart, then another, then its for you, lie, beg at the 7/11, make the date. See you there. Run, run, run. Snap. Snap. Snap. You can hang it up there on a wall for all to see but you can never tell the whole story.

Where did you all go? Turn on the light for it has never been so dark. Blast the Replacements, Darby has been gone for years now. Press got it together, Eldon is no longer, Eldon, he became a cartoon. Larry is worse for being Scott and may not have survived his liver. J Finch, snap, snap, snap.
















The silver oxide ages better then the subject and looks down on the lives it has captured. The down payment made with fear pays dividends counted with age. Greet me from the walls. Reach out to me and remind me that we were not lost. There was nothing so worth the finding that was not there in our youth. J. Finch; Snap. Snap. Snap. You can hang it up there on a wall for all to see but you can never tell the whole story.

The Hat Tipped To Paula

It had been accruing in formidability for more then a spell, it was well on it's way to becoming an entire era. He judged the malady by the length of the duration and this one was now on it's way into multiple seasons, almost calendar turns. The severity had not been of much concern, the symptoms being nearly unnoticeable but the fact was that one day this illness would reach out and pull him asunder.















The doctor's refrained from being dire in his presence but now with new technologies available, and with them the free access of information, it wasn't only the medical world that need place that heavy hand on one's shoulder. With a little looking about one could find enough pertinent information online to predict with some assuredness their own demise. He had been given this gift, this foreign life form that now resided in the innermost recesses of his physical being and sadly there was nothing that could be done about it.

He had, when faced with his diagnosis, been stoical to his best capability but a part of him, the fighter, would not accept the woeful ominousness of his lot. Many visits to as many named clinics and specialists followed and the impotence and studied congeniality of those naysayers only bore to offend him. How could something that he could not feel, see, taste, so write the days he might have left? Undeterred he continued in his explorations on finding a cure.














On the television that night he had seen a popular personality afflicted himself by another malady equal to the one that quietly ravaged his own body, The man through wild tremors spoke of a magic treatment that might be available to him in the future, a treatment that might save his quickly decaying earthly body. The holy among men had turned themselves against this man bedamning him and inferring him to be in league with blasphemers but this frail fellow roared against them. Didn't man have an obligation to serve the weak among the species, to nurture the sick and enfeebled? As he lay there in the dark he visited these thoughts of his fellow sufferer. Was this not god's body that was failing? Had not god given man the tools to explore new treatments? Wasn't all this in god's world, the good, the bad, the ignorant?

Alone at night as the television was quieted and he was, eyes closed and ready for sleep, laying in the dark, he ventured deep into his mind. Modern science had failed him and it seemed the divine was in no hurry to intercede so what more was there for him? Time; all he needed was time. Time for old ideas to die. Time for a new enlightenment among men. Time to live the rest of his days. All he needed was more time.














Just steps away from somnus his forbearers would visit before his eyes smiling beatifically from the beyond and offer their solace that were he to join them it would be his triumph and not the bleak prison he so imagined. His mother in her grace, his aunt and grandparents deep in his being, his marrow, his genes, his DNA. There had to be an answer somewhere. There had to be. There could be he thought, there could be. All he needed was time. Just more time.

Flu Shots And Clear Eyes

"There is a choice."

"You think so?"

"I know so."

"I'm going to prove you wrong but before I forget I want to tell you about the funniest thing I heard."

"Alright but you better get back to the topic at hand when you have finished."















"No doubt. Okay so this friend of mine had the best costume for Halloween."

"What did he go as?"

"He only wore a pair of pants, nothing else."

"That's all? Not a very good costume if you ask me."

"Well wait. So he goes to the party and someone would ask him what he was dressed as and he would say a premature ejaculator."

"A premature ejaculator?"

"Yeah. He came in his pants."

"Really funny, if you're an idiot."

"I guess I'm an idiot in that case, anyways I thought I might share that with you to lighten your day."

"Back to the question at hand. We were discussing choice."

"Actually you really don't have a choice."

"Oh but I beg to differ, of course I have a choice."

"Really? Why do you think that?"

"Because all I have to do is not do it and I have made my choice, that being not to do it."

"I don't think so."

"Why do you say that?"

"Its just not that easy. Say you make the choice not to do it. First you will be giving in to your selfish tendencies by depriving everyone who does want you to do it and then in turn after that will come the unrelenting pain caused by the guilt of having not done it that will consume you and ruin your day."

"What if I chose to do it? What then?"

"Well you won't really be choosing to do it because it is expected of you therefore you will only be fulfilling a previously obligated task."

"So you are saying that I can refuse to do it but it won't be a choice that I can abide therefore I would never make that choice hence there is no choice, for that choice is rendered moot, and in reality there is no choice to be made in regard to the matter at all?"

"In so many words... yes."

"I don't agree."

"You don't have to."

"Why is that?"

"Because you have no choice."

"Sure I do."

"Really? Okay, what's your choice?"

"I choose not to do it."

"Why?"

"I guess I just don't feel up to it and I have nothing to say today. I'm tired and have not a thought in my head. I think I shot my load, no pun intended, yesterday with that neo-realist piece on Fatburger."

"So that's your choice."

"Of course I said it was."

"Well I've proved you wrong. You didn't have a choice."

"What ridiculousness are you going on about?"

"Well you said you weren't going to do it but you did it anyways. Where's the choice in that?"

"You mean that this is it."

"I mean that exactly."

"Oh shit you tricked me."














"Told ya you didn't have a choice."

"I think choice is overrated."

"I think you didn't have a thought in your head and you shouldn't have done it."

"I agree but I didn't have a choice. Did I?"

Juicy Lucy

It had been a year since the civil service had been disbanded, four years since the vote was suspended and three annum since the currency was devalued. The free market was in it's last throes and although the media had to be consolidated all were insured that it was just a temporary measure. The two party system proved to be too divisive and so it too was shelved for the good of all. Energy distribution had become fractured beyond repair by years of scandal and mismanagement and so it's nationalization was a move obvious in it's necessity.

With the collapse of most industry and unions gainful employment had for years been nearly impossible to attain. The government in the name of the people stepped in and filled the breach with a program of conscription. No longer did the populace need fear for lack of a job for the leaders in Washington made sure that all who were able bodied were put to fine use. Committees were formed and everything from hourly wages, in form of redeemable ration coupons, to proper attire were considered and ruled upon. In times of war extreme measures were a matter of necessitude and there was a legal compulsion to conform to these instruments of the national reconstruction.

The day had been like most of the others. The freeway overpass still stood, any terrorist threat having surely been thwarted by his details close guardianship. Each morning his group of six dark suited sentries took their post at Vermont Avenue where that street spanned the Washington Thruway, a major route the 101, that had once been named the Hollywood Freeway. The freeway had been renamed by a great consensus in honor of the nation's capital years before when the mood of the country had swung so as to consider the name Hollywood and all it's connotations a filthy proposition.

Each morning they sat and stared at the street and the concrete. Each afternoon they sat and stared at the street and concrete. Each evening they sat and stared at the street and concrete only stopping when the night detail would come and spell them. They were warned daily at a security briefing, held in one of the many evacuated synagogues, to be ever vigilant for there had been a terrorist dossier discovered in New Jersey years before that specifically mentioned what was then the Hollywood Freeway. There was no specified threat so they needed to be wary of attack from any source. The x-ray machines that had been installed at every major intersection proved none to reliable in test cases and so their human redundancy was essential to the security of the land.














There hadn't been attack on American soil for nearly a decade and the government took great pride in knowing that they had kept their citizenry safe from foreign aggression.

When asked by the financially strapped government to refund the subsidies they had once been granted the agri-business concerns had defaulted one by one and so the government begrudgingly assumed the role of the nation's provider. In lieu of a functioning monetary system for their workers, those being the members of society not wealthy enough or previously affiliated with a major church, the government created a program that assured the health of the populace through a system of food benefits and bonuses. The food coupons that had been put into circulation allowed for a weekly trip to a government food depository, where through genetic modification, there was always a strong supply of basic food stuffs. Those with desires not satisfied by the government rations were forced to deal in a black market or wait for one of the rare bonuses offered.

On this day the Vermont Ave Overpass brigade was awarded it's first bonus ration. After a year of nothing but wheat and soy based food, high fructose corn syrup sweetened beverages and spam, the unit was given vouchers for a trip to what was once a popular fast food restaurant. The shop still looked as it once did but it was staffed by governement workers and overseen by a federal oversight comission.

"I'll have the Fatburger with egg and bacon please...and oh, a strawberry shake."

"I'm sorry you have submitted a request well in excess of your voucher's potential."

"Okay take off the bacon."

"I'm sorry you are still above the limit."

"And the egg."

"I'm sorry your voucher is class C and allows you only the basic Fat Meal."

"Alright. Can I have extra onions on my burger?"

"I'm sorry that would not pass review."

"Then I will just take what you give me."

"One Fat Meal. Would you like fat or skinny fries with that?"














"Skinny and well done."

"Have a nice day."

Give Me A Little Sugar Honey

The table had yet to be cleared and there was much jockeying about to avoid that task. The picked over carcass of yet another turkey sat mangled, bereft of any remembrance of the fowl it had been. The sweet potatoes looked prosaic, devoid of the wonderful marshmallow topping that had been picked away. Plates and dishes littered the table foreshadowing the major effort of cleaning to come later. The kids had been excused and now only the adults were left. Stomachs full to bursting they calmed into a congenial communion.

He sat at the far side of the round table, the seat nearest the front door. It was his custom or so it had seemed to him that although he was of equal standard among those he dined with he would somehow never be one of them. It was only fitting then that he would take the seat that would best afford him the faculty to make a swift exit if the need arose. That need might be buoyed be an uncomfortableness necessitated by his assumed outsider status; he didn't have any children. It wasn't if he had anything against kids, in fact he loved them and they he but fate had not deemed it that he too might procreate.

The others at the table had joined life's rich pageant and so sired offspring that were now in the next room chasing about with sugar fueled glee. But not he. He was the perennial uncle, the cool one who above all had the love of the children. He had sat with them when they were sick or cried for mama. He had attended their games and recitals, picked them up from school, brought the best gift at birthdays but at the end of the day he was still the uncle and at that by name only. He was the family friend uncle not one tied by kinship.













The chatter was lively and jovial and he was concise and full humored in his concerned remarks but as the talk shifted from the latest movie or book, the old days or most recent political exigency to talk of schools and play dates his participation evaporated. He began to recede into his all too familiar jacket of separateness, of inferiority. Was he truly a human being? It was if his lack of family, of familial experience, rendered him unable to consider that he was an actual participant in the animal, the real, the eternal procession of life. His was only a cerebral existence with no permanence or arc.

The talk shifted once again and the assembled pumped him for tales of his exploits. How they relished his perceived freedoms and the fantastic things that might fill his days. He was more then willing to share whatever story, job or girl related, that might enjoy the best telling but a part of him felt as if a performer ringing on emotions meant only to entertain with their mix of comedy and tragedy. He knew no modesty and his brazenness caused peels of laughter. A parent could never speak in such a manner. What if the kids were listening?

As one by one each child wandered back in the room and with that special need sidled up to their parent, the night being forced to an early finish, he sat and toyed with his coffee cup and saucer. He wanted to run from there with ultimate dispatch but his manners prevailed and so he stood slowly then one by one rounded the table kissing each child a dear good night.

It was a year later when she came back from a day out running errands.

"I went to the doctor's today."

"You go for a check up?"

"Well that and a little bit more."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm pregnant."

"That's...I mean...I don't know what to say."

"I scheduled an abortion for next week."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. I just don't want to bring children into this world."















"Maybe someday."

"Maybe."