Shouts and screams from rolled up windows tells me it’s the end of august in a parking lot behind a beach bar that’s about to get robbed, and then shut down by the cops for serving minors, ahem, everyone is rushing to get ripped and ripped off, jerked off and jacked around, ravaged and raped and taped to the side of a car on the way home along the side streets down alleys in residential neighborhoods that shadow the free way on the thought that police are at the beach listening for shouts and screams from inside rolled up windows, burglars trying doorknobs,
What I heard was grim.
“Give it to me, godddd dammnit all, give me allllllllllllllllllllll your love, babykins, I know you want it” he said.
She wasn't having it.“You’re a slob and a drunk and you’re disgusting, get off my foot , get your hand back where I can see it, GET OUT OF MY CAR!!, JESUS, what the fuck are you about??”
He gave a gruff cough that suggested unfiltered cigarettes smoked one after the other for a decade. “Ohhhhhhhhhhh, baby, don’t be so cold like a cone with no cream to lick from the rim, just love my seething sweet thing and let’s be a noise only god hears on a good night..”
It sounded like she knew him, barely, through circumstance and now made it known the clock had stopped all together.
" Watch the hand, grub boy, GET OUT OF MY CAR!! I’m gonna crown your buddy Frank for setting this up, FUCK OFF! GET YOUR DRUNK FACE OUT OF HERE…” A car horn blared, a door slammed, a car alarm screamed, someone was groaning in the gravel.
It’s a night of extremes because the car bounces in it’s spot, next to a dumpster, as the bars empty and bartenders check their keys, dishwashers hose down dishes and waitresses do another line of speed to make the night come home faster as patrons roll over each other, going from hugs to handshakes and all manner of gestures that melt into wars that are declared and over without a shot being fired, the moon sweeps the street that fills with loud jokes that wakes the neighbors with swear words and car alarms that make the punch lines a home invasion, there’s nothing else to do after the little and big hands fall where the do
each night about right now.
Cops have their smokes, their batons, riot guns, boxes of chew toys, their back up bottles, The cars all rock with ignition, roaming hands in the middle of what is now becoming morning, some fingers trace the line of a thigh , other fingers fold together, it’s the end of the summer, and there is no more spending money.
