THE FILTHY NIGHT AIR

DA BOY He had painted a poem earlier on. He read it over and over again. He tried to make each word worth a thousand pictures. Satisfied he signs it. It's one a.m., he's been watching porn for about an hour. He's bored and restless and decides he will go to the club. He is wearing a pair of tight jeans and a white T-shirt tattooed to his torso. Have you ever felt like the leftovers from the butchers table? All ground up and ready to be made into patties. Have you ever felt like meat boy? A lit cigarette in mouth seems glued to the top of his lip. It hangs there barely touching his flesh. The minute he steps out the door, he imagines they're all there as if they were waiting for him. Ready to roast him over an open spit. . It is almost 2 a.m now and all the pop tarts are on the street, fresh out of the toaster. He walks alone to his own brush. Every muscle flexed he owns it. It's distinctly his walk. Chantal walks toward him she's staring. He tries to peer into her soul. She won't look him in the eyes. As she passes Babette grabs him. He doesn't flinch. Looking at her he takes his cigarette and he flicks it a mile and a half . "Hey Babette!” he whisper, like he was shaking a man's hand. He doesn't say another word. He keeps walking, pass the street lights and into the dark alone. The Earth is void of another breathing creature. He travels in the safety of his own thoughts. He takes in a deep breath. He can taste all the desire in the filthy night air. Hear the screams of months past. As he gets closer to the club, he even hears the friction of dancing flesh. He has reached the Black Hole that is his Universe. Even before he makes it to the door of the club. Lynette shoves him against a brick wall. Hard! She puts her tongue down his throat and licks his lungs. She grabs him with her tiny little hand. He smells her a scent subtle but distinct stirs up feelings in him. They don't advertise the entrance. It's very dark just outside the club. Yet he still knows now. He doesn't stop. She owns him. It is Lynette, it's not Lynette. He imagines he doesn't know her. She Pulls him into the alley. He lets her take him. He does nothing to stop her. He spends the next while swimming in a pool of pornographic imagery. She takes control and takes him on the adult ride at the fairway. Lucky! He is just tall enough to get on. He leaves to float above and watch himself with her. Raw flesh! He stares, as he feels her pulling in and out. They are both there but he only sees her. Everything she is races through his mind. He looks at himself. His face is blank. She treats him to uncharted territory as she massages deep inside of him. He floats back to be whole, to hold her, and ride her. Driving hard, fast and mean working the ride to its climax. The brakes screech and they go catatonic in perfect sync. Neither one of them makes a sound. They stand there motionless, grasping for air. Holding the moment. For a second, a minute, for a lifetime. He slowly walks out. They kiss. For a second... She holds him gently. They look at one another. for...,a minute... Their eyes are adjusted to the dark now. She maps every inch of his face with one finger. Tongues touch lips lock and they just hold ...for a lifetime. And even before she leaves. He knows she's gone. Calmly he lights a cigarette, walks to the door of the club and he walks down the stairs. He looks around as his body vibrates to the movement of the music. There she is waiting for him on the floor. His hips are loose and his legs start to lead as he takes her in his arms and dances It's Lynette and him ...for a second for minute for a lifetime. armandhamouth