Friday, May 12, 2006

Fog of Whore



It was a bleak San Francisco night, 1993, about 50 degrees and drizzling lightly. I had been waiting at the stop for about 20 minutes, on the grimy sidewalk.

There was myself, a bum, and a bored whore. The bum was stooped in drunkenness, wearing an oil-stained raincoat hiding layers of unwashed sweaters. His face was a craggy mess. He had sidled up to the whore like a supplicant, and a scabby bottom lip murmured words I could barely make out: "cmon gimme piece of something something canya gimme piece I like it yea cmon.. what I want yea"

As he mumbled, he slowly continued to crowd the whore, but she gave no acknowledgement.

His feet staggered towards her as he continued his patter. Down the street I could see the bus approaching.

As the bus drew up to the curb and passed by me, she reached into her purse and briskly took out a small canister and squeezed the top, enshrouding the bum in a cloud of gas. A sharp rattling noise emerged from within the cloud. I watched, transfixed, as the bum's arms and legs trembled. AAACKKK HHHRRCCCHHHTH GAAAAAAAHH

Then the wind shifted and the cloud pounced on me. My eyes burst into flame as long hatpins were inserted up through the roof of my mouth, into my brain. I doubled over, gagging, and then sank to the pavement.

The whore got on. The doors snapped shut and the bus pulled away.

When my eyes cleared, I looked for the bum, but he was gone.

8 Thoughts:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

Reason you couldn't find the bum is because you WERE the bum. I don't buy your little 'caught in the crossfire' retelling at all, dude.

Monday, May 15, 2006 2:23:00 PM  
Blogger pawlr said...

Anonymous, welcome back. I'm all for skepticism, very healthy instinct. As for bums, it takes one to know one.

Monday, May 15, 2006 10:56:00 PM  
Blogger brooklynmum said...

That's why I don't take the bus. In fact, I am a bit of bus snob. Maybe it's because I was once stuck on one for 26 hours. I sat next a sweet old black woman named Gladys who smoked filterless Camel cigarettes - one after the other for hours on end. She had 10 kids and something like 30 grandkids. She was truly facinating and the highlight of the trip. Maybe I should give buses another try.

Tuesday, May 16, 2006 2:20:00 PM  
Blogger pawlr said...

The best trip I ever experienced was an overnight ferry ride from Portsmouth, England to St. Malo, France. My bunkmate was a Basque sailor who regaled me with tales from his days in the foreign legion. We split a bottle of The Macallan whiskey, no glasses, no ice. They had to wake us up to disembark, we were totally passed out by morning.

Friday, May 19, 2006 5:03:00 AM  
Blogger Medea22 said...

Drunken shenanigans with a Basque sailor. Now I buy that. Hook, line, and Macallan sinker.

Friday, May 19, 2006 9:08:00 AM  
Blogger Manola Blablablanik said...

I guess the moral of the story is: never stand downwind of a bum and a whore.

Now about the Basque sailor, do regale us! :-)

Sunday, May 21, 2006 10:14:00 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

what's a brother gotta do to get some freshones up in here?

Monday, May 22, 2006 9:13:00 PM  
Blogger N said...

Gaseous whores can really take a lot out of a guy, I suppose.

Tuesday, May 23, 2006 11:07:00 AM  

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