The Problem with Women is Men

Liquor store lights enlarge the facts of the night.

Gimmee a pack of goddamn Camels she says,gimmee a fuckin' pack of camels or you can dry hump against this telephone pole.

He tries to kiss her but she turns away, looking into the liquor store at the rack of smokes next to a cash register decorated with permits and checks from dead bank accounts. Bunny heart,he says, how about some MD 20/20 or a couplaquarts of Schlitz, maybe? After we get some, we can go to the high school and hang out at the dance, the band is Gnarly Beast,they play lotsa Deep Purple like it's right offa the record.

Her eyes burn through him the way the store sign burns through the night. I told you,she says, I wanna pack of camels and then I wanna go to the beach where there's a party I heard about. What's with your beer and wine?

Ok, Camels, he says, but how 'bout maybe Camels ”and• some MD20/20? Go sit on the sand, smoke some, get a buzz, later, well...

Oh fuck it, she says, alright, get both, then we'll go.

I love you, sweet meat, he says.

Don't call me that,she says,how much money do you have?

Five bucks, hey says, oughta cover it. Sure about the beach? Beast kicks out the jams on that Deep Purple.

He tries to kiss again and cram his hand down the front of her jeans as he tries to get a rub in, but she turns again, pushes him back with one arm and swats his groin with a flat slap. Fireworks go off behind his eyes.

You dense fucker, she says, all I want is pack of Camels andyou're off doin' something else. I'm going to the beach bymyself.

She turns and walks up the street, walking near the store fronts to avoid the street lights.

He thinks,go ahead and walk away, bitch, Deep Purple rulesand you don't even know, you're just a chain smokin' Deb wannabeanyway, fuckin' bitch.

He limps away, cutting up a service alley toward the highschool,where he knew he'd find some of his bros in the lowerstudent parking lot leaning against car hoods , feigning  the hoodlum poses of guitar heros under the yellow corona of a streetlight.A pain shoots through his crotch and stops him in hisstaggeringœ.

Goddamn bitch, he mumbles and comes to a complete stop in front of two door garage at the end of the alley. He squintshis eyes on a sign nailed to the wooden garage door, letters dancing through a vibrating haze of pain and real mist, shit, my goddamn nuts ache, he thinks, leaning closer to the sign for no reason other than conquer one obstacle, what's this shit say?

"NO PARKING," he reads, and then blacks out, collaspingbetween two hard rubber trash cans.