*stream of consciousness … 15 minutes.  Will do better next attempt

We stopped at a restaurant called ‘The Zephyr’ to escape the storm.  Some of the yokels who frequent the place were none too pleased at our arrival.  Maybe living this far removed from the city tends to make a person a xenophobe.  I don’t know.  Like the wonk at the university library, we were the only subject they wanted to study that night.  I gave Bill the V sign, a signal that we need to vamoose, and in a hurry.  We have used that umpteen times and it never failed to save our asses.
We made our way through the waiting area, shelves filled with local tchotchkes.  An old fashioned squeeze-type coin purse painted to look like a sphincter with the inscription ‘I got money coming outta my ass!’.

A voice came from the shadow to the right. “This looks like the scalawag who sold me that damn plow in 89”.

“I always preferred rapscallion, if you don’t mind.”

“Damn thing sat out in that quagmire behind the barn until it rusted into nothing.”  As he spoke, the phlegm rattled in his lungs.  He coughed with a heavy rasp.  Rasp.  A good description.  Almost onomatopoeia.

As he stepped from the shadows, i felt the nincompoop.

“Thought you’d blow in off the street and mooch a meal while the storm passed?  If you lollygag long enough, people might buy you dessert, too.”

I had the sudden urge to kowtow to the large man emerging from the shadows.  A juggernaut with a square head navigating the isthmus of a walkway between tables.

“Come into town to hornswoggle more of the locals?”, poking a gherkin of a finger in my face.

Fuck.  We were screwed.  Even if we could eke our way past the walking building in front of us, there was the crowd gathered behind him.  I could hear them talking over the pulse in my ears.  ‘Boy’ had a diphthong I had never heard before.  Primitive … lustful.  They were becoming so excited at what they anticipated that a couple seated in a booth started to canoodle all while keeping a careful watch on the two of us.  Betwixt us and the door was our only hope of salvation.  Roland stood with his arms akimbo waiting for what came next.  What always came next.




Published in: on August 25, 2012 at 9:31 pm  Leave a Comment  

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