TERMINUS CH 2 SHIELDS AVENUE

[The Urbane Spaceman]

There must exist some certain intoxication for those who have a thing called “Charisma”
…or at least they think that they have that thing. Why else would they pursue it when they really have nothing to contribute to the rest of us?





Me? I do not write about these horrible things for the sake of attention. I have no charisma, nor do I want it or require it. My game plan is to get this crap out of my system. That will be my personal redemption, when it comes to completion, which will be quite soon. After that, maybe I’ll go smell the roses.


Or, preferably, drink Four Roses with a smile finally on my face instead of a grimace. That would be kind of cool. You know, to feel the weight lifted. Don’t knock Four Roses. It does what it’s supposed to do.




DRINK! you summina bastidges. Always drink.

Promise this.



*ahem*



She was indeed quite lovely, you know.


Lithe and lean, yet supple, almost prodigious, in the right places. Unimaginable that she should exist in the desolate high desert of Fuckno. How could this be?



Black hair, emerald green eyes, and yet, there was something she hid behind them. Perhaps beauty is also a façade? Beauty might be a shield, like a warrior will use to hide the spear beneath it. A distraction from something very dark. Yet, if you are lured by the black flame of a midnight candle, then you might be surprised what awaits you.





“Welcome here, Urb, please come in. You were not followed?”
“ahem. Why hello there. No, I’m a good driver. No one would ever think to follow me. Here is your payment.”


“Excuse me, but let’s do this over the table, please come in.”
“Are you going to film this with a hidden camera?”




“Ha! You’re funny. No, it’s just that if we are going to continue forward as business partners, then we need to have a seat and chat. You know, to rest the wary mind.”

“As you wish. Lead the way.”




It might have been her slight accent, but the phrase was usually spoken in this manner: “Rest The weary mind”

…I just didn’t know which one was the better of the two.



Small place, with big rooms, and many decorations form her homeland on the walls and the tables. She even had a settee. Fancy.


I said, “La Fleur Du Mal is a name in a tongue that differs form the culture you have you surrounded yourself with on these walls. Why the difference?”




“You’re too clever for your own good.”

“Oh, there’s only one good thing about me. I’m loyal to those whom I trust. Can I trust you?”




“Funny, I was going to ask you the same thing. But now, I guess I don’t have to.”

However, she did not answer my question. I took note of it.




I said, “Is that your name for our continued trust? Is that how we will proceed form here?”

She smiled. She said, “Please take a seat. Let’s have a drink. Let’s have a chat.”


So I sat.


She walked to the kitchen, and, of course, I watched her lovely figure. I felt a little slip in my head. I recognized this. She was charming me. I looked down at the money laying on the table. It was wrapped in plastic, but this time, it was not scented with the char of an exploded home, nor desert dust form the airfield, or biker blood and spit, or even mud. It was how Joey and I were doing business now.




Folks came to us. Call first. We knew our customers, and they did the work of visiting us, instead of us seeking them out. Yet, we always went to Punk gigs. How could we not? And that was where we met up again with Fat Jerry. We bought us a big ole Chevy Suburban with a huge engine and enough room to hold twelve people if we wished. It was not new. It was old at the time. We would never be flashy in the false-charisma style of the newly rich. We would always be, and still are, punks, to this day.




The Evil Flower returned to the table with two glasses of dark wine. I held it up to the light to look for drug particles, and I said, “This has nice legs on the glass walls.”


She smiled and said, “I wouldn’t drug you. At least, artificially.”


Huh.


She was quite intoxicating, you know. Perhaps that is why, after a few more visits, I fucked her.




Damn.



.

[oldsmartskunk]

This story left me half cocked. Not quite hard but definitely aroused!

[oettinger]

This story left me half cocked. Not quite hard but definitely aroused!

Same here, that redwine sounds too good

[The Urbane Spaceman]

You know, probably shouldn't say this, but it's definitely not a spigot I can turn on or turn off.

But when there's a knock on the door, welcome the ghost in