Thursday, June 16, 2016

And from the "I was just speaking of" desk...

It's just business, right?

Flatbush & Beverley, 6:30 am... It's all gray/green and muggy and The Weather Channel says morning showers but they're not here just yet.

Who's here, winding her hips all lazy or tired like, headed my way?

Little Miss Something.

She's a pretty little thing, blond and tanned and her hair looks clean.  Nice outfit and her smile shows good, straight, my parents had benefits teeth.  She looks like she's seen a shower in the last 12 hours.  It's cognitive dissonance though and I can check my racism on that (sadly) because my brain is still saying she's just coming up to ask directions, even though she's... She's what?  High?  Yah, probably.  The point is that you don't see too many pretty, young (maybe 25) white girls out on the street at 6:30 in the morning on Flatbush Avenue so the brain wants to say gentrification but she's not up and headed to school or work.

She's at work.
"Can you spare some money so I can get breakfast?"  She's rubbing her stomach and just a bit lower too, as if to illustrate... hunger?

"How much does breakfast cost, sweetheart?"  I'm still thinking of giving her the benefit of the doubt but what the fuck.  She's at work.

"That depends."  

I don't want to be rude.  She's just working.  It's just a job, so I tell her I'm broke and can't afford "breakfast" and she looks sad and frustrated and worried.  I see the guy coming from the corner of my eye.  He's a skinny little cunt in a tank top and shorts.  Dreadlocks and tattoos that you can barely see.  He's little and dark.  I'll be damned if he doesn't have a "Make America Great Again" baseball cap.  I swear to God, he does.  You can't make this shit up.

"Did you ask him?"  He's addressing her.

"He's got no money."

"Did you aaaask him?"  

I don't know what I'm hanging around for.  The little bastard looks pissed off.  Am I going to step in if he smacks the girl?  Ugh... decisions.

"Did she tell you she would suck your dick?"  He's addressing me now.

I stammer a bit.  Still the cognitive dissonance.  I already know what she does and who she is and I'm going to get all weird about talking about sucking dick?  I don't want to get her in trouble though.

"Yah, she did."

"She did what?"

"She told me she would suck my dick."

"So what's the problem?"

"No money."

"So what you still here for, motherfucker?"

What am I still here for?  Good fucking question.  I'm not the genepool lifeguard.  I keep forgetting that shit.  I can't help her.  I can't protect her from this world or whatever it is she's beholding to this fuck for.  She's probably not been doing it for too long, the job or whatever addiction or misfortune she's in it for.  Still, who am I?  Nobody.


It's just a job.  Time to move on and get mine.  

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