The Skeezer

I was out and about and somehow ended up at the C&S. Affectionately it was known as the Cut and Shoot. It wasn't one of my favorite hangouts, but it did have one thing going for it. Being that it had the habit of being open most of the time. I walked in the place and it was "Watching people watching you". I headed to the back where the pool tables were, and I pass the long bar thats mandatory in a place like this. There I see this skeezer in a pair of jeans and nothing more than a ratty white t shirt, baggy tits and all, tending bar. I keep walking to go check out the rest of the place and to see if I was staying or leaving. Watching others play pool can be entertaining especially if you have someone running the tables and talking smack at the same time. I decide to stay and see if I can catch the jigling baby at the bar to get a drink. I do and start chatting her up while checking out the displayed nipples that are riding pretty low. Even she became a little self conscious at my staring. We talk and what a revelation, a slut with a suprising store of knowledge. Not much conscience, but you can't be skank with one of those. Turned out she had a Masters degree and was on staff at one of the local colleges. She loved the reaction people got when they found that out about her. I wasn't a dummy either or maybe to her I was just smart enough. I spent enough time then, so I could spend more time later.


I won't even go over how we started hanging out and how good it was at first. Then we hit that "been there done that" stage. It was obvious the girl was bored. Why else would she be up to those carnal acrobatics again. Regular sex just didn't cut it. However it looked, and from that angle it looked pretty fine, intensity was like drug abuse, always needing a bigger fix. I understood what she was going through. With high accomplishments, come high expectations. After all the hard work isn't some fun deserved. Wasn't life supposed to full of exceptional experience for the gifted. Some people are always looking for that unique thrill. I called it short attention span folk disease. That was her type. My type. Just couldn't be happy with the normal routine.


I now remember the bizarre times we had. Hanging out at some club, she's in nothing but a white dress and heels. We're shooting pool while argueing about wheather Toni's lastest short story was really a novel or not. Then as she would bend over for a shot I would stick a finger in and get a fresh feel of that moisture down below. We would then argue if Charles Johnson was a better writer or not and then go outside and get busy in the car parked along a row of downtown shops. She's bent over on the seat, i'm standing with the door open. We finished up and went back in for drinks like thats what everyone did.

I didn't understand everything and wouldn't have it any other way. I thought I knew her well, but even then I couldn't know what she was thinking. Even though we have a few more miles left, school took her else where. We would chat and make plans that always feel through. I saw her online not long ago, looking for bondage fanatics. Maybe she was happy or just killing time like the rest of us.

A Food Mart Dalliance

After twenty years on the job, mostly wearing green colored Dickies and Wolverine steel toe boots, he realized the rut he occupied was deeper than the Cotahuasi Canyon. James spent most of his time with his Fluke clamp meters and magnetic tipped nut drivers, struggling to meet deadlines, soldering loose connections and going days without talking to a single soul. Since he had no one to laugh at his jokes, give advice about his problems at home or discuss his team losing that playoff game, his best days were those that were filled with urgent but unimportant tasks to be completed for unseen  and inpatient customers. His busiest hours, which were loss trouble-shooting aged electronics to be refurbished  and resole for obscene profits,  keep his mind occupied and away from those dreaded echoes of silence. His only chance to talk, to communicate, to get things off of his chest came when reports were required about which parts needed replacing or what projects had been delayed.

“What can I help you with Larry, came for a visit?” James asked.

“Just checking about the order for the New Hope hospital.” Larry replied.

“That wasn’t due until next week right, did something change?”

“Was that next week, I thought it was this Friday.”

“Larry you know its scheduled for next week. Is this project now my top priority?”

“I’m not saying that, just saying it would be nice if it was finished Friday.”

“You guys are killing me, only come around when you need something. I’ll see what I can do, not promising anything!”

“Thanks James, I knew I could count on you?”

Of course James delivered as he always did. He had plenty of time and nothing else to fill the hours.

After work he no longer was able to occupy his time at the various bars he had accumulated like an antique coin collection. No longer was he able to spend time in therapy with his regular bar stool acquaintances. Even though they repeated the same jokes, told the same lies and relived all the same recycled dramas these 5:00 clock regulars provided the closest thing James had to a two way conversation.

The decades of drinking Michelob’s, smoking bummed cigarettes and eating badly fried catfish had taken an irreversible toll on his aging body. He could now only stomach bland foods made for seniors and weak drinks, like apple juice, desired only by toddlers. Without helping himself to the filter-tipped menthol Salems, honey barbecue chicken wings and draft beer specials he felt like an outsider. You couldn’t tell the story of getting drunk and hitting a parked police car with authority while holding a diet coke.

Now, to kill time and avoid jail time with his family, a mother who wouldn’t be dying anytime soon and a younger brother who seldom worked, James had replaced his bar hangouts with grocery stores. He preferred the local stores over the national chains for their old neighborhood feel. The Champion Food Mart had become a regular in his rotation for the daily commute home stopover.  Located next to a bowling alley in a small strip plaza, the store had no shortage of customers. Conversations about who had the best brand of decaf coffee were easily started.

“I think I’m going to try this breakfast blend.”

“No you should try the dark roast, that will wake you up in the morning.”

“But I like a little non dairy creamer in my coffee and to me the dark roast doesn’t mix right with that.”

“I like to use evaporated milk in my coffee, my grandmother used to drink it that way.”

And so James would pass away the hours.

While looking for a sugar free fruit spread he noticed the love of his life over by the canned meats. At first glance he noticed the shapely legs and that she appeared to be wearing only a white T-shirt and sandals. Surely she was a ghost and if he blinked or looked elsewhere she would vanish. He blinked and a second, closer look revealed she was middle aged like himself   . Unlike his beer gut she had a belly dancer’s waist . After getting a jar of Simply Fruit and moving closer he noticed she had on gym shorts almost totally hidden by the T-shirt and wore a silver chain necklace which contained a simple heart shaped locket. It was obvious she had spent the years walking up the stairs instead of using the elevator, drinking green tea instead of Long Island iced teas and and just doing right. No matter what potential emotional baggage she could be packing, there would always be that  presence that would attract flirtatious one liners. James knew, she hadn’t been hardened by the realities of life which anyone could see in the relaxed way she smiled. James also knew the likelihood of having any common interest with the woman would be low. That didn’t stop his fantasy. Not having the nerve to ask her where the organic sugar could be located he walked past and headed towards the frozen goods. He was stopped in his tracks when she asked.

“I really wanted to try this new casserole but have you ever seen such ridiculous prices for sardines?”

James froze and to this day for reasons he still hadn’t discovered replied with, “I don’t really like sardines,” and kept on walking without waiting for an answer, acting like a shop lifter escaping a close call with security. He had to calm himself, regain his composure, raise his stature, elevate his ambition, come up with a veiled apology and most of all make up for his woeful reply.

After getting a generic pack of ice cream sandwiches, James regrouped with what he thought would be the best approach. He found Ms Tee and her too perfect legs at the checkout counter. Just before James took his chance he noticed she wasn’t alone.

It didn’t make sense. There could be no way she could be with this guy when she could be with me, James thought. After the temporary insanity passed, James calmed down and laughed about the moment, even though he as unhappy as a visiting preacher without pulpit seat. He proceeded to the checkout with his unsatisfying purchases of sweets and took one final look at the love of his life. James shook his head and thought of the words of the philosopher Badu, “Maybe next Lifetime.” Recovery from this disappoint would be slow. After he walked to his car and began to drive away he noticed the couple with Ms Sardine Casserole at the wheel. What type of guy could he be sitting in the passenger seat being the weakest link but at the same time keeping company with someone of such high quality, while he headed home forever alone. Why hadn’t he been prepared for that first time impression that could free him of his isolation from true companionship. Why had he wasted so many years trapped in the same maze. He could only shake his head and think more appropriately this time the words of the great sage Bootsy “If we could Vanish in our Sleep.”

Diversion #235

So its late night on a Friday and I'm out there, in the Maxima rolling. It was a hot, restless night, time to navigate. Not feeling a reflex push for the driver, but sight seeing transit through the city. The Maxima's five speed manual and independent wishbone suspension wouldn't be needed for tonight's excursion. For a trip like this I wanted company, a call was put out to the favorite.

The favorite was between husbands and ready to explore somewhere new. Knock on her door, and she's ready. She had on a denim mini skirt, which was split in the back providing an ever changing view of her well exercised hamstrings and quads. A green pullover shirt made of some type of elastic material providing all the support her petite frame needed. Shoes with just enough heel, good for walking or the dance floor if required, told me I might have to make a stop. No wild guess would be needed to see that’s all she wore. I never heard the favorite say "what am I to wear", or "give me a few minutes to change". Size six dimensions combined with a perfectly constructed smile caused you to want her in your passenger seat. I opened her passenger door just to watch her graceful maneuver into her seat.

We find our way to river road. Me, my mix tapes and a spring loaded body looking for new grooves. River road starts to be fun up north, before it runs into down town, and its like riding a kiddy ride in a night time amusement park. Only relaxing fun tonight, this road would only be an appetizer for some serious shifting and clutching. We talk about our latest discoveries, books being read, new music heard. Just moving no waiting destination. Good company doesn't muddy the mood with ground hog day details about life's redundant details. Silence also isn't a threat. So we're eventually riding downtown, looking at those who want to be looked at. People in cover charge lines, stressing to have a good time. I didn't plan to make any stops, but why not hit at least one spot. You know changes are small that you'll find a pleasant surprise. But like shopping in the bargain aisle in a discount store, there's always hope for a little luck. The Maxima is nice, but its not that nice. It can blend easily without attracting the wrong type of attention no matter where its parked.

One thing about exploring uncharted territory, you don't want to look anything like easy pickings for the Crack Boys. There goes that smirk. The favorite doesn't do it on purpose, but the expectation is there will be problems with the fellas, which is a turn on in itself. Whatever, lets see what happens.

She had eyed a run down joint, you know the type that shouts "should I go in there". With places like this you never knew, random chance "they be jammin". Go inside and the place has a Stephen King vibe. I mean not that’s its wild or anything its just that the people look like they could be featured in a street fair. The kind with those cheap rides that are more horrifying than any million dollar roller coaster. We enter and of course the favorite poses in an area to the side of the lobby so everyone can see those legs. Always that crowd pause for new arrivals. To the left of the entrance is a sectioned lounge with a bar that’s slightly busy. Ahead are steps leading down a level to the main section of the club which contains a dance floor and surrounding tables. To the far side is another small bar serving quick drinks. After some time passes, we're dancing. The place has made it past the pleasant surprise stage and is now on the "I'm gonna come back here again" list. I notice two sister's grinding away enthusiastically on the dance floor. I know place where you would have to pay to see something like that.

While my partner is still getting her workout on, I notice this gem of girl walk into door, small features, nice caramel skin, model hair, in a plaid mini skirt, matching jacket and a understated blue blouse. She was classy. So I dance it off to avoid the green eyed stare, and pay attention to the rhythm for minute I took another glance. Girl is top notch, but she ain't getting any play. She's just standing on the periphery with a few other guys, watching the crowd move. The guys are nicely dressed but seemed to have their focus placed elsewhere. Then the Crying Game realization hits me, here in this club its always a nite for that kind of type. Apparently the favorite knows this and is having a good laugh on me about it. I finish my pause then fall back into the groove. This place would become a frequent destination in the favorite's club rotation. Not bad for a much needed diversion.