Sea-Addled

She examined the spit droplet shaped freckles on the end of her nose. "I'll miss you" she told them. They'll leave with the summer sun. My eyes are too far apart. I chose to notice this only when I put on lipstick. Or glasses. Grossly large translucent blue almond marbles have begun their descent to the back of my skull. Poking the squishy purple rings around them forced out my slimy fat pink tongue.

Soggy grey shoes stunk up my closet. The frayed mouths at the toes seemed to be grinning their maddening crocodile smiles wider and wider every night. "Quit it, you smelly dirty things. It's you who should be ashamed."

Pulling on her coffee stained, tobacco drenched denim jacket, she headed out. A pin of a happy little female tooth glared at her from the pocket, as she trudged over the countless, helpless blackberry bodies she mercilessly stomped to get to the bus stop. I pushed a button labeled "Bus Light". A pathetic pale peach signal pulsated atop the metal signpost. The dim hope of a dying flare, lost at sea; I'd never be found! This brought a smile to her red lips. To be lost, she thought. How perverted and romantic.

After twenty minutes of kicking rocks and drawing ancient symbols in the mud with a stick, she heard the bus approaching. The electric bug killing ZAP! ZAP! got louder and louder as the supporting cable wires bowed to and fro, eventually connecting.

Taking an old ticket transfer out of my pocket I flashed it to the driver. The comatose dried up old being didn't recognize it as last years. Trailing innocent blackberry guts over the plastic ribbed floor, she slithered to the back, basking in the soft pink glow of the cabin lights. They warmed her already pale complexion, rendering her face in a permanent state of flustered embarrassment. She chose a window seat above the rear starboard wheels. She liked how they warmed her feet while simultaneously massaging them. It did the same for her posterior. Shit eating grin returns.

I took out a fat sharpie marker and began to add my two cents to the seat back. Literally. Just as I began to position the mole on Abe's identical twin penny, the bus lets out some steam. Clunk-Clunk. Doc Martens thump up the stairs and sit diagonal me. A hairless clod gapes at my head. I start at the boots and stop at the laces. One Red. I contemplate writing "1488" as the date on the second penny sketch, but that wouldn't be funny.

"BROADWAY EAST!" rings ethereal throughout the deck.

My eyes meet his.

He begins.

"Hey! You wouldn't-"

I pull the cord signaling my abandonment.

(If only it had been that simple in the past. "Hello, my name is Jolene, and I'm diving head first from this sinking ship!")

I stand up, clinging to a slippery pole for support.

I spit a glob of bloody snot and Stumptowns finest roast onto his face.

Without hesitation, his stained dirty hand is around my throat.

( The shit eating grin returns.)

"NOBODY treats me like that you little slut!"

Not being able to tell if she's pink from the lights or lack of oxygen, he loosens his grip; but stays on top of her keeping her pinned to the seat.

" Get your fat racist hand off of me you wanna-be nazi punk asshole."

(He looks at his red laces.)

Seeing my hand fidgeting with something in my back pocket (jack knife), he retreats to his seat with a, "Fuck You."

Royally!

I plod oozingly out of the back doors.

I never got to finish those two cents.

A cold mist pisses on Capitol Hill. Stopping in a coffee shop I watch the clear sperm wiggle down the windows as I wait. Only mates they find are each other. Witnessing amoebas reproduce in reverse.

Adding coffee to my sugar, I return to the rain and squish across the parks grass. It's still early. No one's managed to drag their ass to the bar yet.

Two bells loudly kiss as I enter the Castle Emporium to pass the routinely marching minutes. I hear a voice as I try to read a clerks watch upside down. Waving away the disgusting goateed name tag, I wander over to the magazine rack past the neon dildos and endless wall of whips. The sterile light and no-mess linoleum floor make her more uncomfortable than a dark, dank, red light sex shop would have. But I assume that's just another televised portrayal of a den of inequity her mind has harbored.

She picked up a copy of a R. Crumb-esque looking sex comic.

Even the dialogue in this written stuff sucks. Thumbing through assholes and tits, she closes one and picks up another.

A rabid knock on the window, eyes drawn to the warm orange orb of a Marlboro.

He led her upstairs where the pair would order each other drinks until one was drunk, the other sugar high and full of fake cherries and grenadine, while they waited for the rest of their trivia team.

She longed for the warmer nights of salmon stucco motel rooms, where palm trees tickled and licked the window sills while she shared a few beds with the only other warm mind she cared to.