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Tuesday, July 25, 2006

Breaking a promise to myself that I made a long time ago 

I was sitting there wondering where it all fell apart. It was a lousy greasy spoon in a sea of ugly dead buildings. Two transvestites were at the counter, cackling, wearing huge colored wigs. A junky in a leather jacket and no shirt was nodding off after a day of horse riding, a cold cup of untouched coffee in front of him. I didn't need to drink coffee. I'd been up for days. I would be awake for a long time. I hear the bell above the door ring, and turn around. And in walked the woman who would end up making feel something I never thought I could feel: worse than I did now.

Her eye caught me looking at her, and she smiled. "Do you mind if I join you, darling?" Perfect hair, perfect smile, perfect tits. How could I say no? We talked and laughed like kids. When I suggested we head for the nearest flea bag motel so we could get to know each other better, she grabbed my hand. Since I just met her, I thought it would be rude to take her back to my place. I was pretty sure someone was waiting there to kill me.

As I finished my coffee and called for the check, she pulled a paperback novel out of her purse. "What's that you're reading," I asked.
"It's a crime novel. From Hard Case Crime. Hardboiled. It's pulp, like from the 50's. Bullets, blood, 'dames'..." she trailed off.
"Greasy spoons in bad parts of town at bad times of night?"
"Yeah, I guess so. I like them. They make me think dangerous thoughts."
"Does danger turn you on?" I asked.
"It sure does," she said, biting her lower lip.
"Then baby, we're gonna have a hot night."

As we left and walked out into the orange-black of the city night, my mind was far away from dimestore novels. But by the time the sun came up, I would have my own story of bullets, blood, and dames.

-Miguel Sanchez  12:00 EST | |

About us:

This weblog is an ongoing, if periodic, effort by several friends to stay in touch, in reading material, and in ideas.

Lucky Luciano is a former Italian Stallion real estate hustler and Benedict Arnold CEO turned shady lawyer-to-be. He lives in Denver.

Ben is a Paramedic and would-be philantropist who lives in Denver. He knows everything about nothing.

Fuzzy Dunlop lives in Manhattan. He is more than capable of standing up to the stresses of a high crime urban environment.

Jess is a teacher. But have YOU given her an apple? No, you haven't. You should be ashamed of yourself. This crazy feminist currently rests her copy of Awakening in Jersey City.

Matt is a pariah, iconoclast, and professor of gambling living in Oakland.

Miguel Sanchez is not Lionel Hutz.

Daddy Brooklyn lives in Brooklyn. He hates Republicans, though he wouldn't mind being ensconced in the landed elite of New York City.

Paul just smoked my eyelids and punched my cigarette.

Ziggy Stardust has no past.

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