Sunday, December 30, 2012

Clean Up Your Act, Son.

A city bus comes to rest in front of a bench. A rough street walker boards. He leans into the driver's face and yelps,

"There's been a frankfurter packed in my ass for a week... safe keeps."

The driver tries to tamp down his hard-on in his rayon pants.

***

My old man had a thing for men and Dimethyltryptamine

***

"Where's the fire young lady?" He shoots a crooked grin. Her eyebrows tremble in fear, but she forces a smile . His hand jammed into the doorway like a prison gate. He puffs his chest, rubs his hand over the front of his pants. He grabs the back of her head, bends down, and in a whisper he grunts, "I want to fuck the way you smell." Her nose fills with a gust of tequila, her stomach fills with panic.