Created: December 30, 2007 3:32 AM
Modified: February 14, 2010 12:00 AM
While I stood on the second stair by the life-sized Davy, Davy Crockett bust reading the Dave Eggers snap/flash/whatever they call it/super-short fiction collection I glanced at the blonde usher with the ass-lengthed pig-tail braids and paisley headband, who glanced at me and caught me glancing. She had an over-worked expression like a manager or at least a shift-supervisor would on a Saturday night downtown at the newest theatre in the city (but she was still wearing the t-shirt, which made me wonder if she wasn’t just a natural leader or at least a good worker). I fell for her briefly at the cash register when the doofus college dropout working my card expressed that his computer was refusing to acknowledge the purchase I’d previously made on the internet for tickets to the December 29th sneak preview of There Will Be Blood.
I was beating up some evil children on my break outside the movie theatre where I worked. That lead to me repainting the white steps red with the youngest one’s caved-in face and wondering about what it must be like to menstruate. Less than an hour earlier, I’d told the floor manager that I’d like to get breast implants to see what that was like and she asked, “You want to be a woman?”
One of the kids sank its fangs into my calf. I kicked and stomped to try and shake him off, but the little bastard was clamped down on me like a crocodile on a wildebeest. Jesus, I thought. Save me from this hell pellet wrapped in a human skin sack. Turning my thoughts to the divine inspired my means to fang freedom. I mustered all the religious rhetoric from my baptist upbringing, blessed the water pouring out the nearby fountain and sank my foot to the bottom of the basin that usually just grants homeless persons’ wishes for nickels. The kid sprang away, burning from the searing sting of pure goodness, the opposite of its essence. 