Prairie Fires and Faerie Pyres, Part 15 of 15

“Behold. Peach Pits!” Buddy said, and then started passing out another round of shots, five Peach Pits to go along with three untouched Burning Houses.

“What’s that?” Duke asked.

“It’s like a Red Devil.”

“What’s that?” Dee asked.

“We had Red Devil parties in college,” Buddy said. “It’s a drink with vodka, peach schnapps, peach Southern Comfort, sloe gin, triple sec, orange juice and grenadine.”

“That sounds gross,” Dee said.

“It was a great way to get people to drink,” Buddy said. “I learned that I liked sloe gin and hated Southern Comfort.”

I said, “You used to love Southern Comfort.”

“I had a really bad night of Southern Comfort,” Buddy said.

“Sounds like you let some dude pick you up,” Duke said.

“Fuck you,” Buddy said.

“So what’s that?” I said, point at the shots interrupting Buddy’s angry respond.

“Peach pits.”

I said, “I’m going to pass.”

“Me too,” said Dee.

“You’re whipped, Tom. Go home,” Buddy said, and then he slammed Dee’s Peach Pit.

“Would you slow down?” I asked.

“Fuck you,” he said, and then he slammed my peach pit.

Duke drank his before Buddy could grab it.

C looked at Buddy, and said, “I babysat you last weekend.”

Buddy tried to grab her shot. She slammed it, banged it down, and stared at him.

Buddy asked, “How was it?”

C kept staring.

Buddy stood up and spat, “All of you. Go to hell.”

“Let’s go for a walk,” I said and stood up. My chair clipped someone trying to walk behind me. They almost tripped. “Sorry,” I said.

“I’m going out to party.”

“Let go for a walk.”

“Hey C. Call Walter.” Buddy said. “Tom and I, we’re going to Tiny Dancer’s.”

“A walk, Buddy.” I said.

Buddy said, “Call your friend too, Duke. What was her name?”

Duke said, “Another night, Buddy.”

“Tom, did you put them all up to this?”

“No.”

“Walk Buddy,” I said. I grab his elbow. He jerked way.

Duke stood up, spilling drinks. He was much larger than Buddy. Buddy backed away.

“If any of you want to have any fucking fun tonight, Tom and I will be at Tiny Dancers. We’re going now.”

He backed away from Duke. He shoved his chair creating more noise and mess. He stared at Duke for a moment. Then he walked off.

“I’m going to settle him down,” I said.

——

Prairie Fires and Faerie Pyres

Part 15: Like A Red Devil

Part 14: Shitting Peach Pits

Part 13: Wo Wo Hot Pants

Part 12: Tawny Kitten

Part 11: Living With Your Ghost

Part 10: Kernel Panic

Part 9: Pais Lee

Part 8: Burning House

Part 7: Merkin’s Face

Part 6: Merkin’s Beard

Part 5: Conversation Of Biblical Proportion
Part 4: Hockey Fight
Part 3: Your Blog’s Not A Waste Of Time
Part 2: Put Your Head Somewhere Else
Part 1: Showier Prose

“Watch out. You’re tailgating.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me. Just slow down. Stop looking in the rear view mirror.”

“But.”

“Those things behind you need to watch you. Forget about them. Watch the road.”

“But..”

“Watch the road!”

“An asshole is tailgating me,” she said. She kept looking in the rear view mirror. “He’s flashing his headlights at me.”

“You’re in the right lane,” I said. She was late to slow for a car that was making a right hand turn. His signal was late, but Dee should have been more careful. I was caught by my seat belt.

She said, “He scares me.”

“So what.”

“He’s trying to get past me.” She no longer was looking away from the rear view mirror.

“Just drive.”

“I’m going to slow down.”

“Don’t.”

She rode the brakes.

“What are you doing? Drive.”

No Shrink, Exorcist - Part 3

A loud horn blared. Was that at Dee? Brakes screeched. Someone must have been cut off. I wanted to look behind, but I had to show Dee to look at the road ahead.

A Cadillac Escalade stormed past us. It’s engine roared with acceleration, loud as if the noise was played through the car’s sound system. The SUV swerved into our lane, braked suddenly and hard.

Dee slammed the brakes. Our wheels screeched. I pitched hard against the taut seat belt.

“Asshole!” I yelled. I tugged my shoulder against the locked seat belt until it let go. “Damn.”

“Are you OK?”

“It’s my shoulder.”

“The right one?”

“Pay attention,” I said squeezing my shoulder to create more pain so that when I let go it would only ache. This shoulder was certain to turn arthritic.

The light at the intersection ahead turned yellow. The SUV rushed forward. It didn’t get to the intersection before the light turned red. It barreled through the anyway, blaring the horn.

There was no retribution. There should have been.

The drivers in the cross traffic lanes had seen the Cadillac. They waited even with a green light.

Dee and I were stuck. We didn’t start speaking until we had a chance to make a right hand turn up ahead.

… continued

——

No Shrink, Exorcist

Part 3: Tailgaiting
Part 2: Make The Light
Part 1: Dee Motion

Prairie Fires and Faerie Pyres, Part 14

Buddy returned with a tray of Burning Houses. “C, what do you see in this creep?”

“He’s a little goofy,” she said. “The sex is great. Last night he had me shaking like a dog shitting peach pits. I was delirious.”

“When are you going to see him next?” I asked.

“Take it easy on him, Tom,” C said. “Would you be your normal calm self around Walter. We’re just having fun, OK?”

“Fucking Walter,” Buddy said. “Ha!”

“You two assholes,” Dee said. “Stop with the names. Be nice.”

“Hey C,” Buddy continued. “Next time you’re shitting peach pits, I want you to say ‘wo wo’ out loud, you know? Like a breathy dog bark, you know, ‘wo’ ‘wo’ ‘wo’! I know you can.”

“I know you have,” I said. C stared. I went, “wwwwooooooooo”.

“Wwwwooooooo,” went Buddy, deep voice. Duke smiled.

To keep Dee laughing, Duke repeated, “Wo Wo Hot Pants.”

“Hot pants.” I said. “They give me fever.” I was quoting James Brown.

Buddy said, “I bet Wo Wo looks great in Daisy Duke’s too.”

Dee squeezed my knee again.

“You’re turning me on now, Buddy.”

“Fuck you two,” C said.

“C, bring the peach pit next time,” Buddy said. “Would you?”

“Ha.” She picked up her drink. “Ha.” She didn’t drink, but stared.

“Wo Wo,” Duke said, imitating Buddy. The nickname was agreed.

“I’m going to have Stanley create something new,” Buddy offered. “I’m going to call it a Peach Pit.”

Dee said, “No more shots.”

Buddy asked, “Who wants more?”

“It’s time to take it easy,” I said.

“Fine. I’m going to go work with Stanley on this,” Buddy said and stood. “You’re all cowards.” He walked off to the bar.

“Calm him down,” Dee whispered.

“I’m trying,” I muttered.

“Mary, Mary quite contrary,” I said and touched her shoulder. If I pushed she would wobble. “How does your garden grow?”

“How does it grow?” she asked breathing into my ear.

“With Prairie Fires, lusty desires, a naked body for show.”

She squeezed. And it wasn’t my knee.

——

Prairie Fires and Faerie Pyres

Part 14: Shitting Peach Pits

Part 13: Wo Wo Hot Pants

Part 12: Tawny Kitten

Part 11: Living With Your Ghost

Part 10: Kernel Panic

Part 9: Pais Lee

Part 8: Burning House

Part 7: Merkin’s Face

Part 6: Merkin’s Beard

Part 5: Conversation Of Biblical Proportion
Part 4: Hockey Fight
Part 3: Your Blog’s Not A Waste Of Time
Part 2: Put Your Head Somewhere Else
Part 1: Showier Prose

No Shrink, Exorcist - Part 2

“If we cancel Dr. Marty this week,” I said. “It should work.”

“That’s fine. I’ll still meet Marty.”

“Really?” I followed her out of the service station.

Meet Marty, meet Marty, meet Marty.

Why sing?

Meet Marty, meet Marty, meet Marty.

Shut up, Face.

“Yeah, I need to talk to him about a project I’m researching for Ray?”

“Who’s Ray?” I repeated myself as I opened her car door. Crumbs were on my seat.

“He’s head of sales.” She waited while I brushed out the crumbs. I left the Starbucks muffin bags on the passenger side floor.

“Oh,” I shut my door. She shut hers. “Was this a promotion?” I asked.

“No, just additional responsibility. But it’s good. How was your day?”

Her car started right away. Mine struggled to start. I hope that the service station would fix the problem like the had fixed the rattle. If not, I’d have to take my car somewhere else.

“My clients are idiots. Campaigns and politics turns everybody into paranoid lunatics. Another client tried to volunteer my services for a Senate race.”

“That’s good.” She accelerated abruptly, jumping into rush hour traffic. We couldn’t slide into the left turn lane so we’d probably miss the next light, too.

“I’m too busy. The clients and political hacks are dangerously stupid. All of them want heroic words but none care about what they’re saying or promising. It’s disgusting.”

“That’s all you ever say.”

“It’s disgusting and stupid. What’s worse is that they let me put silly ideas in the text but crap all over good writing. They don’t notice what’s being said, just how.”

“Tom.”

“How busy are you going to be?” We moved and stopped six or seven cars from the front of the left turn lane. We might not even make the next light.

“What?”

“With your promotion?”

“It’s not a promotion.” I wondered why she wasn’t more enthusiastic.

“It sure sounds like it. Are you going to get paid more?”

“Not yet.”

“You should ask to get paid more,” I said. She accelerated abruptly once again. We made the light easily. I asked, “How busy are you going to be?”

“Busy.”

“We need to drop life coaching.”

“No.” She was focused on the rush hour traffic.

“Then I’m going to quit. You go.”

“It was your idea.”

“It was impulsive and stupid. I can’t stand how in one silly moment I did something so inane.”

“It wasn’t insane.” We missed another light.

“Inane,” I said, pronouncing carefully.

“You’re an asshole. You quit life coaching once a week. Just do the work and stop complaining.”

“I do the work.”

“It took you a month to come up with a name.”

“So?” I tried to will the light green.

“And ‘Face’ is all you could come up with.”

“Fuck Face.”

“Your an ass and that name sucks.”

… continued

——

No Shrink, Exorcist

Part 2: Make The Light
Part 1: Dee Motion

Prairie Fires and Faerie Pyres, Part 13

“Mr. Disco Pants, he tried really hard,” Duke said and pantomimed moronical dancing. “Hysterical shit.”

Our laughs were tentative.

“It wasn’t that bad,” C said. We kept watching Duke. “You’re embarrassing me.”

Buddy abruptly laughed at that comment and said, “You embarrass yourself. That’s fine.” He stood, raised his half-empty pint and said, “Here’s to dating, all fucked up and crazy.”

I raised my glass. Dee, C and Duke made vague gestures of acknowledgement.

“C, you know,” Duke said. “She was probably just having fun and it’s nothing serious.” Duke raised his glass to Buddy and drank. Duke continued, “I was there on a date, too.”

Buddy banged his empty glass on the table. “What was his name, again?” Buddy asked.

“Ashley. I met her at happy hour,” Duke explained. “I was out with friends from the office. She’s about five foot ten with legs up to her neck.”

“I don’t care about her,” Buddy said.

Duke said, “She looked something like Tawney Kitten.”

“Walter,” C said.

“Yes. Walter. Walter Hot Pants,” Buddy said. “That doesn’t sound right.”

“No,” I said.

“Not Walter, Wo Wo. Wo Wo Hot Pants?”

“Buddy…” C said.

“Wo. Wo…” I said.

Buddy said, “I’m getting more shots.”

“Wo Wo is a good name,” I said. “Is he your new imaginary friend?”

“Ha. Ha,” C deadpanned.

“Wo. Wo,” I replied.

“Ha. Ha,” she said again.

Duke agreed and said, “Wo Wo Hot Pants.” Buddy and I laughed knowing the name would now stick.

“Wo Wo More Shots,” Buddy said. He stood and walked over to Stanley.

“I don’t want more shots,” Dee said.

“You’re succeeding in getting me drunk,” I said. “Wasn’t that your plan?”

“I don’t want to pass out before I take advantage of you.” She was well on her way. I could tell because she gave me a goofy leer.

“What’s up with Buddy?” she asked.

“He’s buying this round,” I explained. “He’s doing better.”

C leaned between me and Dee. “You call that better?”

“You have a new boyfriend,” I added. “What do you expect?”

“What has that got to do with anything,” she said. “And anyway, he’s just a friend.”

… continued

——

Prairie Fires and Faerie Pyres

Part 13: Wo Wo Hot Pants

Part 12: Tawny Kitten

Part 11: Living With Your Ghost

Part 10: Kernel Panic

Part 9: Pais Lee

Part 8: Burning House

Part 7: Merkin’s Face

Part 6: Merkin’s Beard

Part 5: Conversation Of Biblical Proportion
Part 4: Hockey Fight
Part 3: Your Blog’s Not A Waste Of Time
Part 2: Put Your Head Somewhere Else
Part 1: Showier Prose

No Shrink, Exorcist - Part 1

Maybe no one had smoked inside the service station in years, but it smelled of smoke and dust and 10W30 motor oil. All service stations smell that way, except perhaps a couple of recently built BP near home.

I waited in line to drop off my car. I no longer took my car to the dealership. Salespeople kept trying to interest me in a new used car, and I no longer trusted their ability to diagnose the afflictions of the car I currently owned.

For much of the past three years, my car had a strange rattle. The dealership maintained that nothing was wrong. I demanded that a “certified auto technician” ride in the car with me. I explained the problem, which was more of a sensation that a distinctly audible noise. He didn’t notice. Later, he claimed to have fixed it. The rattle wasn’t fixed and drove me crazy.

I fired the dealership and took my car to a neighborhood service station recommended by Buddy’s father. He said to ask for Frank. Frank took my car out for a quick drive, looked under the hood, and tinkered for ten minutes. The rattle went away. He didn’t charge anything.

This service station is not in my neighborhood so I had to time my drop off plans with Dee’s work schedule. Dee walked in shortly after I did. I was surprised by her punctuality.

“Hey honey,” she said greeting me with a smile. She was chipper even after several busy days at work.

I hadn’t timed my drop off to avoid the afternoon rush of people picking up cars. I had called ahead, but they had no way for me to leave my keys and go. I was chippy.

“How was work?” I asked.

“Ian stormed into my office,” she said. “He yelled at me. He’s dickless.”

Several people reacted. The person at the counter even looked up and waited for Dee to say more. I watched him until he resumed helping the customer in front of the customer in front of me.

I asked, “What happened?”

“He was furious,” she said. “I told Ray that the weekly meetings were a waste of time.”

“Who’s Ray?”

I bet our audience was glad I asked this question.

“Ian’s boss. Head of sales. He cancelled Ian’s meetings and several others.”

“That’s good.” It was also good that we were next in line. Our audience had thinned out.

“He replaced them with a once-per-quarter sales support meeting. He set up a group to plan these meetings. I’m the main support person for that group.”

“That’s great.”

“And my boss isn’t included.”

“So he’s pissed.”

“Enraged. He went nuclear. A bunch of people heard him yell at me.”

The overweight guy behind us said, “My boss is a dick too.”

“I would guess he’s not hitting on you anymore.” This comment elicited a heavy chuckle from the noob.

“He did last week, and the week before that.”

“Really?”

An older woman behind the fat guy said, “Oh honey, you have to stop that.”

“And you and I just got invited to a management offsite next week,” Dee continued. “He’ll probably hit on me there.” This news was unwelcomed.

“Not if I’m there.”

“Don’t count on it. It starts Tuesday. Can you go?”

“I need to check. I do have a lot of work.”

“Tom.”

“Hold on.”

It was my turn. I was told that Frank was off until next week but that someone else could take care of my car tomorrow. I declined because Frank is my man. I could trust him to make sure my car could pass inspection.

I rescheduled my time to coincide with Dee’s offsite. My hope was that I could use Dee’s car while she was gone. It was a vain hope. She overhead me rescheduling my appointment.

“So you’re coming?” she asked.

… continued

Prairie Fires and Faerie Pyres, Part 12

“Walter is a friend,” C said. She looked into her empty shot glass rather than at Buddy or me.

I drank. Like C, Buddy played with his shots. Mine was sticky and uncomfortable to handle. I wanted to get up to wash my hands, but Dee’s hand was on my thigh.

“A friend who wears disco pants,” Duke said. “And can’t dance worth shit.”

“Well C,” Buddy said, “you can really inspire the dorks and the dipshits.”

“Buddy…,” C said.

“Is he a fuck buddy?” Buddy asked.

“Stop,” C said, and looked directly at Buddy then me. Buddy held her gaze. I drank my beer.

“You must have loved those pants, C.” Buddy wouldn’t stop. “I’m sure they were too tight. And dirty dancing. Did they play Flashdance?”

“Metal, Buddy…”

“Metallica?”

“Eighties’ metal.”

Buddy said, “Metallica was an 80s LA heavy metal band.”

“They didn’t have the hair,” I said.

“You’d know,” Buddy said. “Whitesnake?”

“My hair kind of looked like the guy in Whitesnake.” C said. “They played a lot of Guns ‘N Roses…”

“I love Tawny Kitaen,” Buddy said. At 13, Buddy and I had just discovered girls. My brother Scott had given us a copy a VCR tape of the Whitesnake music videos, Is This Love? and Here I Go Again. Buddy thought Scott was the coolest person ever.

Buddy spent three months drawing Tawny Kitaen cartwheeling over the cars, lying on top of cars, doing the splits on top of cars. He continued drawing cars, and eventually stopped drawing Kitaen.

“Tawny Kittens?” Dee asked.

“In the white dress?” Duke asked. In Is This Love?, Tawney wore a white dress that was not really a dress. It was more of a suggestion. Buddy wanted to marry this women. I encouraged him.

“Like a drifter, I was born to walk alone,” Buddy spoke, quoting the lyrics.

“That’s poetry,” I said. “Poetry in a white dress.” Buddy memorized the guitar part to Here I Go Again. During the bridge, he would Tom-Cruise around the room. I played savage air drums. For a while, we even loved the words to the song.

We’d stand next to each other and play air keyboards. Once or twice, Scott joined our keyboard line. He broke one of mom’s crystal vases using a fire poker as a mic stand in a series of profoundly phallic and funny gestures. Scott could sing.

“Tawny danced around a pole,” Buddy said. “Did you dance around the pole for Walter?”

I interrupted, “Buddy drew a thousand pictures of Tawny.”

“Is that where you learned to draw breasts?” Dee asked.

It was where he learned to draw breasts. A teacher siezed one of his notebooks filled with drawings. She became hysterical. Buddy was called into the principal’s office and received a month of detentions. The principal kept the notebook. I saw it on his desk three years later. Pervert.

“Pole dancing for Walter,” Buddy sneered. “He must have loved that.”

“Stop Buddy,” I said.

C said, “We just had fun. And danced.”

“You have a Tawny Kitten,” Buddy said.

I stared at him because he almost chose another word for ‘kitten.’

Buddy said, “Why does C always get tangled up with fucking dorkshits?”

“Walter’s nice,” C said. “You’re a prick.”

“Bitchy, Bitchy, Bitchy.”

… continued

——

Prairie Fires and Faerie Pyres

Part 12: Tawny Kitten

Part 11: Living With Your Ghost

Part 10: Kernel Panic

Part 9: Pais Lee

Part 8: Burning House

Part 7: Merkin’s Face

Part 6: Merkin’s Beard

Part 5: Conversation Of Biblical Proportion
Part 4: Hockey Fight
Part 3: Your Blog’s Not A Waste Of Time
Part 2: Put Your Head Somewhere Else
Part 1: Showier Prose

Prairie Fires and Faerie Pyres, Part 11

Buddy balanced Prairie Fires and Burning Houses on a big round tray. He weaved around tables and lurched past strangers. I followed carrying beer chasers for everyone.

Buddy turned around without a wobble to any of the shot glasses. “A boyfriend?” he asked.

“Watch out,” I said. “She said something about Walter. She might be joking.”

“Joking?”

“It won’t last long.”

Ghosty had something to say. She played Santa Monica by Everclear, a song that starts,

I’m still living with your ghost.

It’s a classic anthem song with accelerating tempto and building volume. Goose bumps rise between the second stanza and refrain:

I just want to feel some sunshine

I just want to find some place to be alone

We can live beside the ocean

Leave the fire behind…

Buddy served C first. “Who’s Walter?”

Duke laughed. “Your turn C.”

“Thanks,” C said.

“He’s Mr. Disco Pants,” Duke said.

“Mr. Dickless Pants?” I asked.

“His name is Walter,” Dee said.

I followed Buddy around the table handing out the chasers to wash down the Prairie Fires and Burning Houses. He moved gracefully while I stumbled in his wake. I spilled beer on Dee’s leg. She wiped it away without concern.

“I ran into C at Tiny Dancers,” Duke said. “She was there with Walter.”

Tiny Dancers is one of the local clubs, noiser than Yak’s. It’s more for dancing with strangers than hanging out with friends.

I sat next to Dee with my Pale Ale, a Prairie Fire and a Burning House arrayed in front of me. Dee whispered, “Are you trying to get me drunk.” She gave my knee a firm squeeze and left her hand on my thigh.

“Prairie Fires!” Buddy said. “Ready everyone. One. Two. Three!”

Bang! Five shot glasses slammed on the table.

“What the hell?!” Duke sputtered. Everybody sputtered. I gagged then coughed.

“It’s burns,” Buddy said overpronouncing ‘burns’. He talked as if he had taken a mild sip of ginger ale.

“Ehck.” said C and coughed. Everyone coughed.

“Prairie Fires,” Buddy said. “Tequila and drops of tabasco that sink to the bottom.”

“Are you hiding Walter?” I asked C. She hadn’t recovered her voice from the Prairie Fire.

“He likes,” Duke wheezed, “tights.”

“Tights?” Buddy asked.

“Disco pants. You know, bell bottoms and paisleys.”

Buddy tried to clear his throat with three short coughs like those caused by corn chips, not tabasco.

“When was this?” I asked.

“Tiny Dancer,” C struggled to say, “had an eighties hair-band party last night.” She coughed. “We dressed up a little.”

“What were you wearing?” Dee asked.

“Me? My disco veronicas and a big hair wig,” C said.

I asked, “Disco veronicas?”

“Tight pants. Shiny. Red.”

“I was a platinum blonde,” C said, running her hand through her auburn hair as if it flowed below her shoulders. “I didn’t have super model breasts though.”

“I can take care of that,” Buddy said. “I’ll get my sketch pad.”

C said, “You wish.”

Dee said, “They would need to be real fake breasts.”

“Fake boobs aren’t real,” I said.

“Your opinion doesn’t count,” Dee stated.

“You’ve seen what I can do with a pen,” Buddy said.

C said, “You love to draw Dee and me with big breasts.”

Buddy picked up his Burning House, motioned to everyone to do the same. He declared “Burning down the house!” and then hammered his empty shot glass on the table. Four more clipped shots banged as we followed Buddy.

“That was good,” Duke said.

… continued

——

Prairie Fires and Faerie Pyres

Part 11: Living With Your Ghost

Part 10: Kernel Panic

Part 9: Pais Lee

Part 8: Burning House

Part 7: Merkin’s Face

Part 6: Merkin’s Beard

Part 5: Conversation Of Biblical Proportion
Part 4: Hockey Fight
Part 3: Your Blog’s Not A Waste Of Time
Part 2: Put Your Head Somewhere Else
Part 1: Showier Prose

Cosmetic Addictions, New Breasts - Part 9 of 9

I took long fast strides toward the elevator. Dee could follow if she wanted.

I pressed the elevator button. I was happy to hear the ping of the arriving elevator, but I kept frowning. I was happy for the company of an old lady in the elevator. Dee and I wouldn’t talk. I kept my frown.

“Hurry Dee,” I said, holding the door.

“Hold on,” she said as she hurried.

I stared at the elevator lights for the short ride to the lobby. I could tell that Dee wanted to speak.

I stepped off before Dee. I said, “We’re not going.”

“Going where?”

“We’re not joining Dr. Marty socially.” We walked past several elderly in obvious need of care. I was interrupted before getting to the circular doorway. Men are supposed to go first according to most etiquette books. Dee bulled ahead of me, spinning the door at speed.

As I exited, I continued, “And I am not buying a car. I need to go back to work.”

Dee stopped walking and said, “Go.”

“And no, I don’t want to talk about this later.”

“Did your car pass inspection?”

“No,” I said, standing aside to let an older man in a wheel chair use the handicap access ramp. Dr. Marty worked in a mixed use building filled with accountants, lawyers, dentists and doctors. Apparently, there was a medical call at 10:15.

“What’s it going to cost to get it fixed this time? Didn’t you just spend $500 on repairs.”

“I don’t know.”

“Any guess.”

“No. It’s the clutch. I’ll get several bids.”

“You’re going to take it to several shops just to see if you can save $50.”

“No.” I had to get out of the way a third time, so I started a slow walk to the parking lot. I hoped to see Dee’s car so that I wouldn’t have to walk to mine first.

“No?”

“I don’t want to get ripped off.”

“Or you could get a new car.”

“I don’t want another car,” I said. I noticed Dee’s car and walked in that direction. She drove a four year old Jeep Liberty that her older brother sold her at a great price. She liked the car but it was not her style. She wanted me to get a new car before she got one.

She opened her car door, and I said, “I really need to get going.”

“No problem.”

“Good.”

“I’ll just let Dr. Marty know that you won’t be joining us when we get together.”

“Us?” I looked a her. She didn’t even twitch. “We?”

“I’m going to go.”

“Us? We?” I put my hands in my pocket and started playing with my keys. “That’s supposed to be you and me.”

“Yes.” She got into her car.

“So?”

“So are you going to come?”

“We will talk about this later.”

“Fine.” She started her car. Her smile twitched.

She has a beautiful smile.

Go to Hell.

Perseverate that.

——

Cosmetic Addictions, New Breasts

Part 9: Not Later
Part 8: Old Pal, New Pain
Part 7: Elective Pharmacology
Part 6: My Car, Her Breasts
Part 5: Next Action?
Part 4: Dee On The Desk
Part 3: Clacking
Part 2: Smell The Writing
Part 1: Detail, Time Square

…

Ghosty had started playing Burning Down The House by Talking Heads while I waited for Stanley.

Hold tight. Wait till the party’s over.
Hold tight. We’re in for nasty weather.
There has got to be a way,
Burning down the house.

“Hey Stanley. Let’s make up a new drink.”

“What?”

“I want something called Burning Down The House? What would that be?”

“Dunno.”

“Make it up,” I said. “Tequila is required.”

“What about the Prairie Fires?” Stanley asked.

“I want those too. And the Burning Houses.”

“Maybe it’s like a Kamikaze?”

“Yeah.” I said. “Add Sloe Gin to the Kamikaze.”

“Sloe Gin?”

…

——

Prairie Fires and Faerie Pyres

Part 10: Kernel Panic

Part 9: Pais Lee

Part 8: Burning House

Part 7: Merkin’s Face

Part 6: Merkin’s Beard

Part 5: Conversation Of Biblical Proportion
Part 4: Hockey Fight
Part 3: Your Blog’s Not A Waste Of Time
Part 2: Put Your Head Somewhere Else
Part 1: Showier Prose

…

“You’re welcome,” he said. “Here.” And he handed his package to me.

“Ambrosia was a much better name,” I said as I unwrapped the package. “Didn’t we kill her in one of our last comics?”

“You had the idea that she’d get hanged.”

“She’s beautiful,” I said. “I forgot how well you draw her.”

“You hanged her,” he continued. “We had to contrive something silly so that her superpowers didn’t interfere. Her blood drained to the ground as it happened.”

“That was grusome.” It was Rob and Buddy that executed the hanging even if it was my idea at first.

“And pointless. You can’t kill the thing that fuels desire.”

…
——

Dropping By

Part 5: My Pen In Hand
Part 4: Hangings
Part 3: Hamstrung Ambrosia
Part 2: Breakfast With Dad
Part 1: This Is Too Much

…

I studied the album cover. I was warmed by the radiance of the kleeg light beam that Bono shined on The Edge. The light’s bloom reminded me of headlights during rainy, foggy nights.

The Edge is bent over by that astringent light, burdened by his guitar and certainly by the scrutiny of his vast audience. His jeans are torn, and his only protection from the light seems an insignificant hat. In fact, the light seems to burn right through him.

Bono is staring intently without facial expression or emotion. He is harsh truth to The Edge’s faltering art. The two are the classic paring - the bright frontman and mysterious guitarist. Both are too intense to be at ease.
…

——

Bono Says, “Rock On Dr. Marty”

Part 5: Homering
Part 4: Bono Is An Asshole
Part 3: Rattle And Hum
Part 2: “Unmanageable Undoability”
Part 1: Pause

Scott said, “Bruce Springsteen once said that you haven’t lived until you’ve had your tires changed by a red-head. I think we just had our tires changed.”

C asked, “So you want your tires changed? Is that what your saying? So you’re going to meet psycho chick at the bar? Get you tires changed?”

…

——

Brienne

Part 5: Dee Stress
Part 4: We Had Our Tires Changed
Part 3: Agent Scully, Bitchy
Part 2: Agent Scully, Dribbling Stout
Part 1: Agent Scully, Provocateur

…

Boo walked to his Dad, tugged his shirt, and asked, “Daddy?”

“Hey big man. Tell this lady what you told your mom.” Boo looked reluctant. “It’s OK. Go ahead.”

“You bitchy fucking bitch!”

Brienne shrieked. She threw the remaining stout at Duke and took off toward the door.

Boo chased her, yelling, “Bitchy! Bitchy! Bitchy!”

——

Brienne

Part 5: Dee Stress
Part 4: We Had Our Tires Changed
Part 3: Agent Scully, Bitchy
Part 2: Agent Scully, Dribbling Stout
Part 1: Agent Scully, Provocateur

My first post included an allusion to Let It Out, a song from 1967 by the Hombres. It’s a brilliant song that came to my attention because of Cameron Crowe and his phenomenal sound tracks. This song was on the sound track to Elizabethtown.

Let it all hang out - a good theme for this blog. My post yesterday about Rob, my Old Pal, was tough to finish. I will continue my two open stories - Cosmetic Addictions, New Breasts and Prairie Fires and Faerie Pyres - soon.

A reader sent my a link to the above YouTube video. Enjoy.