Chapter Seven
When given the choice between taking the same dirt track through life that you've walked everyday for more years than you'd care to forget and a brand new and exciting smooth-surfaced tarmac 21st century transportation aid - what would you choose?
What road do you want to get lost down? You're going to get lost either way because you don't have a map. Nobody has a map. So you ask yourself - now that you have this choice - do you wanna get lost in style on the easy route - or some back-breaking ancient trail?
That night at the bar, when i was about to go over onto that new and exciting trail and start my journey into who knows what, i was saved by my guardian angel. The place was full of suits and slags and other forms of post-communter entertainment. Everyone talking trash to the garbage around them. I was drunk to say the least. I was fully aware that on my way into this place i looked far more innocent than the Armarni sharks and all the Gucci girlies with their red eyes and sharp smiles. The kind of people i would expect to try and sell me life insurance or stocks in their company whilst beating me to a pulp. And they looked to professional they'd probably get a sale.
I was going over to this girl with the blue ice-cream scoop hair and the puffin-black tears on her little pink pillow cheeks when my angel came and took me away. I'll never know what it was she was saving me from. She dived between me and Bubblegum Betty without looking at either of us, just waltzed through, grabbing a fistful of the top of my suit jacket on her way, and pulling me over to the a booth in the corner of the place, and not once did she look at my face.
I was dazed. Drunk as hell and pulled in what seemed every direction possible. The ceiling was bouncing up and down to some far-distant bassline, and the floor was jelly that seemed to have been doused in the most slippery, slimey substance possible. All the troubles about not knowing where my life is, my wife leaving me, my being homeless and some girl pulling me around the place all came to the front of my already crowded party of a brain and none of them left until i had been sat down in this booth for about five minutes.
She sat there opposite me, feet up on the cheery-red leather, smoking a long thin white stick and never once looking at me. She was edgy. Forget ants, it seemed like flesh-chewing death beatles were gnawing away in her pants.
When i finally came through: "Wh-who are you?"
"Mother Teresa"
"Really?"
"No"
"Oh. Well - what, i mean, what do you want?"
"I'm not too sure myself"
And then she stood up and left. I followed her movements with my head - as she lifted herself up from the seat she stood for a second and took a drag of her stick. She picked out a place with her eyes and started walking. One foot in front of the other with a slinky grace that you think is resigned only for supermodels. I don't know if it was me or the booze - but she was the hot burning effigy of simple, fucking, perfection.
What road do you want to get lost down? You're going to get lost either way because you don't have a map. Nobody has a map. So you ask yourself - now that you have this choice - do you wanna get lost in style on the easy route - or some back-breaking ancient trail?
That night at the bar, when i was about to go over onto that new and exciting trail and start my journey into who knows what, i was saved by my guardian angel. The place was full of suits and slags and other forms of post-communter entertainment. Everyone talking trash to the garbage around them. I was drunk to say the least. I was fully aware that on my way into this place i looked far more innocent than the Armarni sharks and all the Gucci girlies with their red eyes and sharp smiles. The kind of people i would expect to try and sell me life insurance or stocks in their company whilst beating me to a pulp. And they looked to professional they'd probably get a sale.
I was going over to this girl with the blue ice-cream scoop hair and the puffin-black tears on her little pink pillow cheeks when my angel came and took me away. I'll never know what it was she was saving me from. She dived between me and Bubblegum Betty without looking at either of us, just waltzed through, grabbing a fistful of the top of my suit jacket on her way, and pulling me over to the a booth in the corner of the place, and not once did she look at my face.
I was dazed. Drunk as hell and pulled in what seemed every direction possible. The ceiling was bouncing up and down to some far-distant bassline, and the floor was jelly that seemed to have been doused in the most slippery, slimey substance possible. All the troubles about not knowing where my life is, my wife leaving me, my being homeless and some girl pulling me around the place all came to the front of my already crowded party of a brain and none of them left until i had been sat down in this booth for about five minutes.
She sat there opposite me, feet up on the cheery-red leather, smoking a long thin white stick and never once looking at me. She was edgy. Forget ants, it seemed like flesh-chewing death beatles were gnawing away in her pants.
When i finally came through: "Wh-who are you?"
"Mother Teresa"
"Really?"
"No"
"Oh. Well - what, i mean, what do you want?"
"I'm not too sure myself"
And then she stood up and left. I followed her movements with my head - as she lifted herself up from the seat she stood for a second and took a drag of her stick. She picked out a place with her eyes and started walking. One foot in front of the other with a slinky grace that you think is resigned only for supermodels. I don't know if it was me or the booze - but she was the hot burning effigy of simple, fucking, perfection.
posted by TokenArtStudent at 5:36 PM
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