Awake from a nightmare in which I saved the world. Can’t remember how though. Pay no attention to the pornographic possession stares gained from celluloid sex sirens who whisper oh fuck me stares mantras in everyone else but my ears when we walk into the shift workers bar. What was it like? What? The long sleep. It was like being a little car trapped with your hazard lights on, on the side of the road while the big trucks pass you by, looking up at a billboard and only making out a few letters, wondering what it all says. Fuck. Yeah. Just waiting to make sense. No light? Fuck off. And we swallow down the scotch mixed with soda. Think about how easy it is. Water deaths scare me. Know what you mean, that feeling that something could just nip at your leg before taking you down. Exactly. I missed you, you miss me? No. We missed each other for that long period of time. Thought that we would never talk to each other again. Being alone in the sucking void is worse than the non caring death fucking suck void of infinite. We’ll go together. She doesn’t answer. The best way. Keep drinking on, and looking at the little happy donut puff cartoon character clock that would not look sad if you smashed it into a million bits. I only got a coupla bucks left. Get something cheap. So get a shot of bucket cleaner shnapps. Clink. Here’s to future pukes. Not bad. We drink to that. What about the weapon? Tomorrow. We gotta get outta here. We could sleep in an alley tonight. Fuck that, let’s get another car. Yeah. Break into a Posha 675. What if the owner comes back? Guess we’re gonna have some splaining to do. He does come back and we fight. Even. Get in some licks before he calls the blue coats. Tackle him. Steal his phone. Throw it at the ground. A chase but not far. He’s too well fed to run. Back to the bumper bar car bay of backed traffic and citadel sit downs. Honk honks make a stupid soundtrack so turn on the radio. Back masking beat blast back down bass on a pop track introduces a new form of satanic consumer inquenchable satiasim. The bleach baby with the fake tits and rubber tyre pump lips tries to illicit a concerned auto erratic response by singing something about lipstick sticking stains and pain. Roll the stations around until a new wave trend fucked freedom fighter working for a major network wants you to revolt and fight the formality, but only after the ad break has finished. Creak down the window. Now breath only through the mouth to stop smog scents. Swish wish again. Jazz. Good old fashionable drug created blue blue jazz. It plays out slow, spreading and improvisational. A melodic can of paint being tipped gently onto carpet. Head on back to the head rest, cool breeze and close eyes. Storm shutter eye sleep in the traffic block and not caring anymore. Feels, so, good. Sail up the edge of suburbia. Snatch up an unclaimed paper from the previous, hour, morning, day. Front page inks bleed The Middle Class Maniac Awakens! Straight back into eyes stares a photo of the happy family, her, me, mum and dad, then another coma photo. Looks like you got some coverage. Horrible name. Yeah they gave it too you after the last time. No mention of y-oh wait, it appears that I’ve kidnapped you. Well, you are a monster. Whatever they say. Flip to the back section where the poor old classifieds offer the same lock maw boredom relief that never comes. Scan the freak fetish section to see what’s in fashion. Male, 19, wants to be covered in cheese. No specific type. Will remain totally clothed. Male, 34, needs women to break wind on him in italics Yes, I know it’s a bit weird, but will pay good money thanks. It’s getting confusing. Reminded of the sloppers, or slooshers, or slippers or something. People who tip whole plates of food into their lap for a sexy little boost. Tried it once with a plate of mixed up jelly and spaghetti but it just felt grey brainy and soft sog. Maybe they just do it for the sound effect? It wouldn’t probably work with a roast. We sleep under a tree. An elm? And touch her shoulder. Small victory and worth the blood nose and smashed sockets.
The Sour Milk Suck Experience