"...and I see Miguel's face through the gray haze of junk smoke-" writes William S Burroughs. I'm reading Naked Lunch at a bar around midnight. I was on my way home from my friends' apartment. We'd watched 'Zombie Strippers' a short while ago (Unlike Wiseau's epic tour-de-force, it knows and revels in its badness.)
The kitchen ran out of portobello mushrooms. My burger is rendered impossible. I shriek and heave a chair across the room.
"Dude," says the head chef (he's got me in a full Boston Crab) "they're just mushrooms." I shrug with resignation and snap his neck.
"May I have a chicken wrap, then?"
I order a beer. It's my...forth...? Fifth. Fifth drink tonight. It attacks my palate with a ferocity known only to feral creatures. I take intermittent sips of refreshing cucumber water.
"Th..there's a vegetable in my drink." I mutter. Nobody replies.
A girl sits next to me. Her name is Jessica. She's moving to Denver, staying at the Hampton, and enjoys going to hot springs, electronica, and growing pot. She tells me about the law of attraction by bending over, spreading her cheeks and revealing her luscious butthole.
"No, I'm good." I shovel sweet potato fries into my mouth. She holsters her leather cheerio.
"You see, you can manifest anything you desire if you think about it for at least 68 seconds."
"SIXTY-EIGHT!" I pump my fist in the air.
"Wh-?"
"SIXTY-NINE!" I shout. "HEY-YOOOO!" I'm thrashing into a giggle fit.
People are starting to scoot away from me at the bar....which is weird...because the stools are bolted to the floor. A Korean janitor begins cleaning up the dead head chef.
"Its about saying 'yes' to life, y'know?" Jessica nods. I order what she's drinking. The bartender stares at Jessica's drink, looks at my empty hand, then gingerly takes the cocktail from her and pushes it into my grip. She looks at me as if to say, "Was that right?" I wave my hand in front of her face like Obi-Wan Kenobi. She nods knowingly and begins to remove her shirt.
"Wait, no...that's not-" I stammer. The bartender cocks her head and scowls, then goes about her normal business, shirt half-undone.
"If you wanna' go hot tubbing, I'm just in the Hampton here, downtown. I'll text you or something tomorrow." Jessica says.
"Who the hell are you?" I demand.
"We-we were just talking...for like an hour."
"Oh, that's right."
"I was saying, we-"
"I thought you were someone else."
"No," she giggles uncomfortably, pushing hair out of her eyes, "I've been sitting here the whole time."
"Let me get this straight-" I adjust my glasses which are non-existent, "you're Bruce Wayne AND Batman?" I pronounce it 'BAT-mən' like a Jewish last name. She stares at me.
"I don't really know what you're talking about anymore."
And really...do ANY of us?
No comments:
Post a Comment