Shebodee

Her hair swang back and forth and her shadows cut a long swath across the wall, standing on the bed glistening naked and stroking that strap on with a smile on his face. There wasn't much else they could do besides set up the video camera they didn't happen to possess. They took little notice of the cracks in the ceiling, but were certainly impressed by the general ambience of room 18 at the Olive Motel. There was a painting on the wall, on the back of which was a short plea for help from a young girl in a crude mix of freshly learned cursive and squiggly print, dated May the sixth 1976, begging someone to call the police and let them know that Samantha had been there and that the man who grabbed her after school three days ago in Barstow was named Karl Cummings (the exact script didn't happen to be so clear and so could have as easily been interpreted as ...). They found this out later in the evening after shotgunning five or six cans of Ice Beer and attempting some standing on their heads acrobatic screwing while holding onto the head board of the king sized pad they paid very little for. They never called the police and neither did anyone else. The eye makeup looked rather convincing along with the lipstick and rouge and his high angular cheekbones—that long straight mane of shockingly blond hair didn't hurt either. They met the previous night drinking Jack and Coke, Jack and Coke, Jack and Coke, Jack and Coke, Jack and Coke, and Jack and Coke after Jack and Coke at a run down modernist cement block of a moldy house up above Echo Park. Jack and Coke was how they had referred to each other since sometime the night before and of course someone at the party eventually produced the coke to go with the Jack and Coke and when the party was down to the thinnest slim hopes of making the leap from night to day Jack and Coke came to some sort of nodded little slight of hand agreement to band together and give the coke guy a few good kicks before stumbling out and down the long tilted curves of pavement with his amber vial. And so the day, the day was fucking bright and barely endurable. After an over stimulated long stumble, some jelly donuts and teabag inspired caffeination, they hid in an obscure alley way and tag teamed tent city, sucking and sucking and sucking till their fists were full of green dollars. Jack was a little horse by the time they paid for the motel, as it seemed that he had gotten all the guys that wanted to grip the back of his blond locks with both hands and hug his head tightly to their mid-sections. And so their case went quickly, forming a tin pyramid on the teevee and soothing their split red throats, no more Jack and Coke they referred to each other as Natty and Ice Man. Twenty year old laughs echoed against the drywall when Some-She-Body knocked on their door right when the painting came down, a vase of flowers junking down to the matted pillows and torn sheets, then the canvas flew across the room and broke in the frame of the door, cracking the molding and responding to the soon to be forced entry on the hollow unlocked door.