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chapter 1
A sharp sting followed by a ravishing cold. It enveloped me, my eyesight grew blurry and I couldn't move. I sunk lower on the toilet seat, sliding forward. I pushed the stopper as far as it would go and, using all of my strength, drew the needle back out from my arm. The smell of burning hair flooded my nostrils and life seemed to move in stop-motion.
My face collided with the urine-stained linoleum, but i didn't mind it. It was cold where my body was hot. Vera sat in the stall next to me, her smooth calf muscles inserted tenderly into ruined combat boots. Bubbles ran up and down my flesh, popping and leaving tingling happiness in their wake. My heart pounded like a redneck battering their child. I tried to speak, but it came out as a whisper.
Vera's legs spread wide, and she too slid from her porcelain throne. A blackened light bulb slipped from her hand and scattered across the ground. She let out a heavy sigh.
I tried to speak again, but this time I couldn't hear my own voice.
"Can you see?" came her voice, soothing and motherly. She was strong and knowledgeable in all things. I knew to listen to her every word.
"No..." I whispered, "am I dying?"
Tinkling laughter flooded out of her stall. I heard the sound of shuffling skirt, the stretch of removing fishnets, and the soft squish of flesh. My heart started beating faster.
"What are you doing?"
"Can you see?"
"No. What--"
"Stand up, dude. Don't lie on the ground like that."
At this suggestion, I finally found myself able to move once more. I drew my limbs back, pushing on the surface that suddenly felt like Styrofoam. Shakily, I lifted myself up and met with the door. I collapsed again. Vera let out a whimper, the sound of wet meat continued. With great effort, I stood.
Out of the darkness, a bathroom stall appeared. My hand reached out to it and opened it. Beyond that, a mirror, within that, a strange man with grizzled stubble and a severely stained western. His eyes were bloodshot. He stepped forward as I did.
Vera moaned.
"What are you doing?" I asked once more.
"What'd you do with the needle?"
The world came back into view with a small pop. Everything seemed tense and manufactured, as if straining against the bounds of reality. Things that I knew must be straight curved at sharp angles. I felt a rush of vertigo, slowly turned about, and sat. For my own safety.
Vera was in the stall directly in front of me, the stall door was open. Her fishnets were pulled down around her ankles and two fingers were plunged deep into her cleft. She saw me staring, her face grew red (more red), and she slammed the door.
"what?"
"I thought you couldn't see!"
"I thought the world wasn't supposed to have guitars."
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
I snapped back to an ant crawling in circles on the ground, lost in the infinite realm of the human world.
"Vera..." I muttered, as things grew more an more weird around me. She stopped masturbating to answer me, perhaps taking note of the serious tone with which I puked her syllables.
"Yeah?"
"Where are we?"
There was a moment of silence. The air was permeated with fractals that winked in and out of existence, as if I was furiously rubbing my eyes.
"A bathroom... In a diner..."
she paused.
"In Texas."
This was hilarious to me, a smile split my face as lumps dotted long rivets in my skin.
"Do we have money for gas?"
"No."
"How are we getting out of here?"
"Shut up for a sec, hon. Lemme get off before you ruin my high."
I closed my gaping maw, and focused my consciousness on her legs. The twisted red tangles jutting out below her lowered panties stuck out beyond all things. It pierced my brain and drew me to it like a grasping tentacle. I couldn't move, though, so that was that.
The bathroom was once more filled with the sound of my dear friend working her genitals. A grimy sheet of metal separated me from perhaps the most beautiful sight in all the world, but my imagination filled the gap. Her lop-sided mohawk bobbing gently, her eyes clenched tight, her teeth cutting deep into her lower lip as she struggled to contain herself through the waves of pleasure and crack infection. Breasts bouncing like drips of honey against her thin dress shirt.
Her legs shivered and their angle connotative of her prostrating position. She uttered a moo, like a gentle grinding noise, and finally the tension was released. There was a sigh that shuddered the walls. She pulled up her britches after a moment of relaxing, stood, and thrust the door open, wiping her hand on her skirt.
Her eyes scanned me. I began wondering how long we had been in the bathroom. She was obviously sober now, so it was probably between twenty and thirty minutes.
"You cool?" she said. I groaned in response. She hoisted me onto my feet. We stood eye to eye. Her charcoal gaze made my blood run cold though I knew it was one full of care.
"What was it that you were talking about?" she said with a sly smile. I swallowed hard and followed her out of the men's room, leaning heavily on the wall. I wondered how the truckers on the other side would receive us; a surly punk girl and a lanky writer with a penchant for manic depressive rants that never changed his clothes.
I had my answer soon. That answer was "poorly".
A sharp sting followed by a ravishing cold. It enveloped me, my eyesight grew blurry and I couldn't move. I sunk lower on the toilet seat, sliding forward. I pushed the stopper as far as it would go and, using all of my strength, drew the needle back out from my arm. The smell of burning hair flooded my nostrils and life seemed to move in stop-motion.
My face collided with the urine-stained linoleum, but i didn't mind it. It was cold where my body was hot. Vera sat in the stall next to me, her smooth calf muscles inserted tenderly into ruined combat boots. Bubbles ran up and down my flesh, popping and leaving tingling happiness in their wake. My heart pounded like a redneck battering their child. I tried to speak, but it came out as a whisper.
Vera's legs spread wide, and she too slid from her porcelain throne. A blackened light bulb slipped from her hand and scattered across the ground. She let out a heavy sigh.
I tried to speak again, but this time I couldn't hear my own voice.
"Can you see?" came her voice, soothing and motherly. She was strong and knowledgeable in all things. I knew to listen to her every word.
"No..." I whispered, "am I dying?"
Tinkling laughter flooded out of her stall. I heard the sound of shuffling skirt, the stretch of removing fishnets, and the soft squish of flesh. My heart started beating faster.
"What are you doing?"
"Can you see?"
"No. What--"
"Stand up, dude. Don't lie on the ground like that."
At this suggestion, I finally found myself able to move once more. I drew my limbs back, pushing on the surface that suddenly felt like Styrofoam. Shakily, I lifted myself up and met with the door. I collapsed again. Vera let out a whimper, the sound of wet meat continued. With great effort, I stood.
Out of the darkness, a bathroom stall appeared. My hand reached out to it and opened it. Beyond that, a mirror, within that, a strange man with grizzled stubble and a severely stained western. His eyes were bloodshot. He stepped forward as I did.
Vera moaned.
"What are you doing?" I asked once more.
"What'd you do with the needle?"
The world came back into view with a small pop. Everything seemed tense and manufactured, as if straining against the bounds of reality. Things that I knew must be straight curved at sharp angles. I felt a rush of vertigo, slowly turned about, and sat. For my own safety.
Vera was in the stall directly in front of me, the stall door was open. Her fishnets were pulled down around her ankles and two fingers were plunged deep into her cleft. She saw me staring, her face grew red (more red), and she slammed the door.
"what?"
"I thought you couldn't see!"
"I thought the world wasn't supposed to have guitars."
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
I snapped back to an ant crawling in circles on the ground, lost in the infinite realm of the human world.
"Vera..." I muttered, as things grew more an more weird around me. She stopped masturbating to answer me, perhaps taking note of the serious tone with which I puked her syllables.
"Yeah?"
"Where are we?"
There was a moment of silence. The air was permeated with fractals that winked in and out of existence, as if I was furiously rubbing my eyes.
"A bathroom... In a diner..."
she paused.
"In Texas."
This was hilarious to me, a smile split my face as lumps dotted long rivets in my skin.
"Do we have money for gas?"
"No."
"How are we getting out of here?"
"Shut up for a sec, hon. Lemme get off before you ruin my high."
I closed my gaping maw, and focused my consciousness on her legs. The twisted red tangles jutting out below her lowered panties stuck out beyond all things. It pierced my brain and drew me to it like a grasping tentacle. I couldn't move, though, so that was that.
The bathroom was once more filled with the sound of my dear friend working her genitals. A grimy sheet of metal separated me from perhaps the most beautiful sight in all the world, but my imagination filled the gap. Her lop-sided mohawk bobbing gently, her eyes clenched tight, her teeth cutting deep into her lower lip as she struggled to contain herself through the waves of pleasure and crack infection. Breasts bouncing like drips of honey against her thin dress shirt.
Her legs shivered and their angle connotative of her prostrating position. She uttered a moo, like a gentle grinding noise, and finally the tension was released. There was a sigh that shuddered the walls. She pulled up her britches after a moment of relaxing, stood, and thrust the door open, wiping her hand on her skirt.
Her eyes scanned me. I began wondering how long we had been in the bathroom. She was obviously sober now, so it was probably between twenty and thirty minutes.
"You cool?" she said. I groaned in response. She hoisted me onto my feet. We stood eye to eye. Her charcoal gaze made my blood run cold though I knew it was one full of care.
"What was it that you were talking about?" she said with a sly smile. I swallowed hard and followed her out of the men's room, leaning heavily on the wall. I wondered how the truckers on the other side would receive us; a surly punk girl and a lanky writer with a penchant for manic depressive rants that never changed his clothes.
I had my answer soon. That answer was "poorly".