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Old 06-11-2003, 01:18 PM   #16
Guido
monkey
 
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Join Date: Jun 2003
Location: IL
Posts: 15
I walked in the door.

Like any other day. But today was not like any other day. And as though to prove it, nobody came to greet me.

I let a long sigh escape my lips. Thinking back to last night, it's a wonder I'm not dead. The car had missed me by a matter of inches. My heart beat faster just thinking about how close it had been.

It was too dark to see the driver's face. But I'll never forget that laugh as long as I live. The car had been aimed directly at me. Which one of them was driving? The car seemed familiar. I looked for a paper to write down everything I could remember about the car, driver and that laugh. A '55 Chevy...seafoam green...and that laugh. It was deep and resonant, yet also had a high-pitched screaming sound to it.

I was almost sure. The driver was Gunter, my colleague and closest friend. And though I was having trouble believing it, the passenger beside him was my wife Vanessa.

I stumbled up the stairs to our bedroom, my head throbbing. God, I'd always hated that chenille bedspread. I began rifling through Vanessa's bureau drawers, tossing unmentionables carelessly as I searched, looking for something tangible, something to explain her presence in that car.

Having emptied the dressers and half the closet, I drop my exhausted body prostrate on the bed. I still have a nagging feeling there is some clue to be found. I donít know what Iím looking for and I donít even know if Iím looking in the right place.

Then it hits me like a champagne hangover; the greenhouse! It made perfect sense. My god, how many hours did she spend in that dank place?

But I had asked a million times, and she assured me there was nothing between her and Gunter. And I believed her. But now Ö now what was I to believe. Especially after she had told me she was going out with Sarah and Melanie last night. I thought she looked, and smelled, too good when she left to just be hanging out with the girls.

I needed to make a call. I reached over to grab the phone, when I realized something was missing from the nightstand.

It's subtle; most would never notice. But I know Vanessa and how she hates to clean. The nightstand, perpetually covered with dust, is spotless -- heck, the whole room has been cleaned.
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Old 06-12-2003, 11:05 AM   #17
Deviate
Butt-F***ing the World
 
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Join Date: Sep 2002
Location: the other side of normal
Posts: 5,863
I walked in the door.

Like any other day. But today was not like any other day. And as though to prove it, nobody came to greet me.

I let a long sigh escape my lips. Thinking back to last night, it's a wonder I'm not dead. The car had missed me by a matter of inches. My heart beat faster just thinking about how close it had been.

It was too dark to see the driver's face. But I'll never forget that laugh as long as I live. The car had been aimed directly at me. Which one of them was driving? The car seemed familiar. I looked for a paper to write down everything I could remember about the car, driver and that laugh. A '55 Chevy...seafoam green...and that laugh. It was deep and resonant, yet also had a high-pitched screaming sound to it.

I was almost sure. The driver was Gunter, my colleague and closest friend. And though I was having trouble believing it, the passenger beside him was my wife Vanessa.

I stumbled up the stairs to our bedroom, my head throbbing. God, I'd always hated that chenille bedspread. I began rifling through Vanessa's bureau drawers, tossing unmentionables carelessly as I searched, looking for something tangible, something to explain her presence in that car.

Having emptied the dressers and half the closet, I drop my exhausted body prostrate on the bed. I still have a nagging feeling there is some clue to be found. I donít know what Iím looking for and I donít even know if Iím looking in the right place.

Then it hits me like a champagne hangover; the greenhouse! It made perfect sense. My god, how many hours did she spend in that dank place?

But I had asked a million times, and she assured me there was nothing between her and Gunter. And I believed her. But now Ö now what was I to believe. Especially after she had told me she was going out with Sarah and Melanie last night. I thought she looked, and smelled, too good when she left to just be hanging out with the girls.

I needed to make a call. I reached over to grab the phone, when I realized something was missing from the nightstand.

It's subtle; most would never notice. But I know Vanessa and how she hates to clean. The nightstand, perpetually covered with dust, is spotless -- heck, the whole room has been cleaned.

I rubbed my face to wash my eyes of daylightís stain and strained to focus on the individual details of the dimly lit room.
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Old 06-12-2003, 04:42 PM   #18
ambo
feline, naturally
 
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Join Date: Apr 2003
Location: California
Posts: 4,407
I walked in the door.

Like any other day. But today was not like any other day. And as though to prove it, nobody came to greet me.

I let a long sigh escape my lips. Thinking back to last night, it's a wonder I'm not dead. The car had missed me by a matter of inches. My heart beat faster just thinking about how close it had been.

It was too dark to see the driver's face. But I'll never forget that laugh as long as I live. The car had been aimed directly at me. Which one of them was driving? The car seemed familiar. I looked for a paper to write down everything I could remember about the car, driver and that laugh. A '55 Chevy...seafoam green...and that laugh. It was deep and resonant, yet also had a high-pitched screaming sound to it.

I was almost sure. The driver was Gunter, my colleague and closest friend. And though I was having trouble believing it, the passenger beside him was my wife Vanessa.

I stumbled up the stairs to our bedroom, my head throbbing. God, I'd always hated that chenille bedspread. I began rifling through Vanessa's bureau drawers, tossing unmentionables carelessly as I searched, looking for something tangible, something to explain her presence in that car.

Having emptied the dressers and half the closet, I drop my exhausted body prostrate on the bed. I still have a nagging feeling there is some clue to be found. I donít know what Iím looking for and I donít even know if Iím looking in the right place.

Then it hits me like a champagne hangover; the greenhouse! It made perfect sense. My god, how many hours did she spend in that dank place?

But I had asked a million times, and she assured me there was nothing between her and Gunter. And I believed her. But now Ö now what was I to believe. Especially after she had told me she was going out with Sarah and Melanie last night. I thought she looked, and smelled, too good when she left to just be hanging out with the girls.

I needed to make a call. I reached over to grab the phone, when I realized something was missing from the nightstand.

It's subtle; most would never notice. But I know Vanessa and how she hates to clean. The nightstand, perpetually covered with
dust, is spotless -- heck, the whole room has been cleaned.

I rubbed my face to wash my eyes of daylightís stain and strained to focus on the individual details of the dimly lit room.

I slowly slid the nightstand drawer open. There, in a little golden heap, lay the bracelet I had given Van on our third anniversary. I squinted hard to read the word "asshole" scrawled on the small piece of paper beside it. It was NOT my wife's handwriting.
__________________
Non-violence leads to the highest ethics, which is the goal of all evolution. Until we have not stopped to include violence as an option in our conflict management, we are still savages.
--Thomas A. Edison
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Old 06-12-2003, 08:24 PM   #19
Deviate
Butt-F***ing the World
 
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Join Date: Sep 2002
Location: the other side of normal
Posts: 5,863
I walked in the door.

Like any other day. But today was not like any other day. And as though to prove it, nobody came to greet me.

I let a long sigh escape my lips. Thinking back to last night, it's a wonder I'm not dead. The car had missed me by a matter of inches. My heart beat faster just thinking about how close it had been.

It was too dark to see the driver's face. But I'll never forget that laugh as long as I live. The car had been aimed directly at me. Which one of them was driving? The car seemed familiar. I looked for a paper to write down everything I could remember about the car, driver and that laugh. A '55 Chevy...seafoam green...and that laugh. It was deep and resonant, yet also had a high-pitched screaming sound to it.

I was almost sure. The driver was Gunter, my colleague and closest friend. And though I was having trouble believing it, the passenger beside him was my wife Vanessa.

I stumbled up the stairs to our bedroom, my head throbbing. God, I'd always hated that chenille bedspread. I began rifling through Vanessa's bureau drawers, tossing unmentionables carelessly as I searched, looking for something tangible, something to explain her presence in that car.

Having emptied the dressers and half the closet, I drop my exhausted body prostrate on the bed. I still have a nagging feeling there is some clue to be found. I donít know what Iím looking for and I donít even know if Iím looking in the right place.

Then it hits me like a champagne hangover; the greenhouse! It made perfect sense. My god, how many hours did she spend in that dank place?

But I had asked a million times, and she assured me there was nothing between her and Gunter. And I believed her. But now Ö now what was I to believe. Especially after she had told me she was going out with Sarah and Melanie last night. I thought she looked, and smelled, too good when she left to just be hanging out with the girls.

I needed to make a call. I reached over to grab the phone, when I realized something was missing from the nightstand.

It's subtle; most would never notice. But I know Vanessa and how she hates to clean. The nightstand, perpetually covered with
dust, is spotless -- heck, the whole room has been cleaned.

I rubbed my face to wash my eyes of daylightís stain and strained to focus on the individual details of the dimly lit room.

I slowly slid the nightstand drawer open. There, in a little golden heap, lay the bracelet I had given Van on our third anniversary. I squinted hard to read the word "asshole" scrawled on the small piece of paper beside it. It was NOT my wife's handwriting.

I picked up the delicate golden strand and draped it over my hand, feeling its soft coolness against my skin.
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Old 06-13-2003, 12:21 AM   #20
ambo
feline, naturally
 
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Join Date: Apr 2003
Location: California
Posts: 4,407
I walked in the door.

Like any other day. But today was not like any other day. And as though to prove it, nobody came to greet me.

I let a long sigh escape my lips. Thinking back to last night, it's a wonder I'm not dead. The car had missed me by a matter of inches. My heart beat faster just thinking about how close it had been.

It was too dark to see the driver's face. But I'll never forget that laugh as long as I live. The car had been aimed directly at me. Which one of them was driving? The car seemed familiar. I looked for a paper to write down everything I could remember about the car, driver and that laugh. A '55 Chevy...seafoam green...and that laugh. It was deep and resonant, yet also had a high-pitched screaming sound to it.

I was almost sure. The driver was Gunter, my colleague and closest friend. And though I was having trouble believing it, the passenger beside him was my wife Vanessa.

I stumbled up the stairs to our bedroom, my head throbbing. God, I'd always hated that chenille bedspread. I began rifling through Vanessa's bureau drawers, tossing unmentionables carelessly as I searched, looking for something tangible, something to explain her presence in that car.

Having emptied the dressers and half the closet, I drop my exhausted body prostrate on the bed. I still have a nagging feeling there is some clue to be found. I donít know what Iím looking for and I donít even know if Iím looking in the right place.

Then it hits me like a champagne hangover; the greenhouse! It made perfect sense. My god, how many hours did she spend in that dank place?

But I had asked a million times, and she assured me there was nothing between her and Gunter. And I believed her. But now Ö now what was I to believe. Especially after she had told me she was going out with Sarah and Melanie last night. I thought she looked, and smelled, too good when she left to just be hanging out with the girls.

I needed to make a call. I reached over to grab the phone, when I realized something was missing from the nightstand.

It's subtle; most would never notice. But I know Vanessa and how she hates to clean. The nightstand, perpetually covered with
dust, is spotless -- heck, the whole room has been cleaned.

I rubbed my face to wash my eyes of daylightís stain and strained to focus on the individual details of the dimly lit room.

I slowly slid the nightstand drawer open. There, in a little golden heap, lay the bracelet I had given Van on our third anniversary. I squinted hard to read the word "asshole" scrawled on the small piece of paper beside it. It was NOT my wife's handwriting.

I picked up the delicate golden strand and draped it over my hand, feeling its soft coolness against my skin. Where had we gone wrong ? One hot tear fell on the woven links, slid rapidly down the length of the chain, and landed in my lap. I hadn't cried since I was six.
__________________
Non-violence leads to the highest ethics, which is the goal of all evolution. Until we have not stopped to include violence as an option in our conflict management, we are still savages.
--Thomas A. Edison
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Old 06-13-2003, 12:56 AM   #21
simedog
makes ya think, don't it?
 
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Join Date: May 2003
Location: winter park, floreeeeeeda
Posts: 35
I walked in the door.

Like any other day. But today was not like any other day. And as though to prove it, nobody came to greet me.

I let a long sigh escape my lips. Thinking back to last night, it's a wonder I'm not dead. The car had missed me by a matter of inches. My heart beat faster just thinking about how close it had been.

It was too dark to see the driver's face. But I'll never forget that laugh as long as I live. The car had been aimed directly at me. Which one of them was driving? The car seemed familiar. I looked for a paper to write down everything I could remember about the car, driver and that laugh. A '55 Chevy...seafoam green...and that laugh. It was deep and resonant, yet also had a high-pitched screaming sound to it.

I was almost sure. The driver was Gunter, my colleague and closest friend. And though I was having trouble believing it, the passenger beside him was my wife Vanessa.

I stumbled up the stairs to our bedroom, my head throbbing. God, I'd always hated that chenille bedspread. I began rifling through Vanessa's bureau drawers, tossing unmentionables carelessly as I searched, looking for something tangible, something to explain her presence in that car.

Having emptied the dressers and half the closet, I drop my exhausted body prostrate on the bed. I still have a nagging feeling there is some clue to be found. I donít know what Iím looking for and I donít even know if Iím looking in the right place.

Then it hits me like a champagne hangover; the greenhouse! It made perfect sense. My god, how many hours did she spend in that dank place?

But I had asked a million times, and she assured me there was nothing between her and Gunter. And I believed her. But now Ö now what was I to believe. Especially after she had told me she was going out with Sarah and Melanie last night. I thought she looked, and smelled, too good when she left to just be hanging out with the girls.

I needed to make a call. I reached over to grab the phone, when I realized something was missing from the nightstand.

It's subtle; most would never notice. But I know Vanessa and how she hates to clean. The nightstand, perpetually covered with
dust, is spotless -- heck, the whole room has been cleaned.

I rubbed my face to wash my eyes of daylightís stain and strained to focus on the individual details of the dimly lit room.

I slowly slid the nightstand drawer open. There, in a little golden heap, lay the bracelet I had given Van on our third anniversary. I squinted hard to read the word "asshole" scrawled on the small piece of paper beside it. It was NOT my wife's handwriting.

I picked up the delicate golden strand and draped it over my hand, feeling its soft coolness against my skin. Where had we gone wrong ? One hot tear fell on the woven links, slid rapidly down the length of the chain, and landed in my lap. I hadn't cried since I was six.

After crying for what felt like days, I finally got up off the bed. I knew I had to do something. I reached for the phone again and dialed Stanley's number.
__________________
dog food stalls with the beefcake pantyhose
kill the headlights and put it in neutral
stock car flamin' with a loser and the cruise control
baby's in Reno with the vitamin D

simon
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Old 06-13-2003, 12:05 PM   #22
Deviate
Butt-F***ing the World
 
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Join Date: Sep 2002
Location: the other side of normal
Posts: 5,863
I walked in the door.

Like any other day. But today was not like any other day. And as though to prove it, nobody came to greet me.

I let a long sigh escape my lips. Thinking back to last night, it's a wonder I'm not dead. The car had missed me by a matter of inches. My heart beat faster just thinking about how close it had been.

It was too dark to see the driver's face. But I'll never forget that laugh as long as I live. The car had been aimed directly at me. Which one of them was driving? The car seemed familiar. I looked for a paper to write down everything I could remember about the car, driver and that laugh. A '55 Chevy...seafoam green...and that laugh. It was deep and resonant, yet also had a high-pitched screaming sound to it.

I was almost sure. The driver was Gunter, my colleague and closest friend. And though I was having trouble believing it, the passenger beside him was my wife Vanessa.

I stumbled up the stairs to our bedroom, my head throbbing. God, I'd always hated that chenille bedspread. I began rifling through Vanessa's bureau drawers, tossing unmentionables carelessly as I searched, looking for something tangible, something to explain her presence in that car.

Having emptied the dressers and half the closet, I drop my exhausted body prostrate on the bed. I still have a nagging feeling there is some clue to be found. I donít know what Iím looking for and I donít even know if Iím looking in the right place.

Then it hits me like a champagne hangover; the greenhouse! It made perfect sense. My god, how many hours did she spend in that dank place?

But I had asked a million times, and she assured me there was nothing between her and Gunter. And I believed her. But now Ö now what was I to believe. Especially after she had told me she was going out with Sarah and Melanie last night. I thought she looked, and smelled, too good when she left to just be hanging out with the girls.

I needed to make a call. I reached over to grab the phone, when I realized something was missing from the nightstand.

It's subtle; most would never notice. But I know Vanessa and how she hates to clean. The nightstand, perpetually covered with
dust, is spotless -- heck, the whole room has been cleaned.

I rubbed my face to wash my eyes of daylightís stain and strained to focus on the individual details of the dimly lit room.

I slowly slid the nightstand drawer open. There, in a little golden heap, lay the bracelet I had given Van on our third anniversary. I squinted hard to read the word "asshole" scrawled on the small piece of paper beside it. It was NOT my wife's handwriting.

I picked up the delicate golden strand and draped it over my hand, feeling its soft coolness against my skin. Where had we gone wrong ? One hot tear fell on the woven links, slid rapidly down the length of the chain, and landed in my lap. I hadn't cried since I was six.

After crying for what felt like days, I finally got up off the bed. I knew I had to do something. I reached for the phone again and dialed Stanley's number.

It wasn't long before I was sitting beneath the haze of a hundred cigarettes. Waitresses were shouting over the pounding din, pouring drinks, making change in unmentionable places. Stanley waved in another drink for me; my head spun as I tried to focus on the stage.
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Old 06-13-2003, 08:07 PM   #23
Guido
monkey
 
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Join Date: Jun 2003
Location: IL
Posts: 15
I walked in the door.

Like any other day. But today was not like any other day. And as though to prove it, nobody came to greet me.

I let a long sigh escape my lips. Thinking back to last night, it's a wonder I'm not dead. The car had missed me by a matter of inches. My heart beat faster just thinking about how close it had been.

It was too dark to see the driver's face. But I'll never forget that laugh as long as I live. The car had been aimed directly at me. Which one of them was driving? The car seemed familiar. I looked for a paper to write down everything I could remember about the car, driver and that laugh. A '55 Chevy...seafoam green...and that laugh. It was deep and resonant, yet also had a high-pitched screaming sound to it.

I was almost sure. The driver was Gunter, my colleague and closest friend. And though I was having trouble believing it, the passenger beside him was my wife Vanessa.

I stumbled up the stairs to our bedroom, my head throbbing. God, I'd always hated that chenille bedspread. I began rifling through Vanessa's bureau drawers, tossing unmentionables carelessly as I searched, looking for something tangible, something to explain her presence in that car.

Having emptied the dressers and half the closet, I drop my exhausted body prostrate on the bed. I still have a nagging feeling there is some clue to be found. I donít know what Iím looking for and I donít even know if Iím looking in the right place.

Then it hits me like a champagne hangover; the greenhouse! It made perfect sense. My god, how many hours did she spend in that dank place?

But I had asked a million times, and she assured me there was nothing between her and Gunter. And I believed her. But now Ö now what was I to believe. Especially after she had told me she was going out with Sarah and Melanie last night. I thought she looked, and smelled, too good when she left to just be hanging out with the girls.

I needed to make a call. I reached over to grab the phone, when I realized something was missing from the nightstand.

It's subtle; most would never notice. But I know Vanessa and how she hates to clean. The nightstand, perpetually covered with
dust, is spotless -- heck, the whole room has been cleaned.

I rubbed my face to wash my eyes of daylightís stain and strained to focus on the individual details of the dimly lit room.

I slowly slid the nightstand drawer open. There, in a little golden heap, lay the bracelet I had given Van on our third anniversary. I squinted hard to read the word "asshole" scrawled on the small piece of paper beside it. It was NOT my wife's handwriting.

I picked up the delicate golden strand and draped it over my hand, feeling its soft coolness against my skin. Where had we gone wrong ? One hot tear fell on the woven links, slid rapidly down the length of the chain, and landed in my lap. I hadn't cried since I was six.

After crying for what felt like days, I finally got up off the bed. I knew I had to do something. I reached for the phone again and dialed Stanley's number.

It wasn't long before I was sitting beneath the haze of a hundred cigarettes. Waitresses were shouting over the pounding din, pouring drinks, making change in unmentionable places. Stanley waved in another drink for me; my head spun as I tried to focus on the stage.

Stanley thinks my mind is playing tricks on me -- that I'm jumping to conclusions. "You need to get yourself distracted," he said. Perhaps he's right, at least for tonight. The woman taking the stage did the job, too -- perhaps too well.
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Old 06-16-2003, 12:41 AM   #24
Deviate
Butt-F***ing the World
 
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Join Date: Sep 2002
Location: the other side of normal
Posts: 5,863
I walked in the door.

Like any other day. But today was not like any other day. And as though to prove it, nobody came to greet me.

I let a long sigh escape my lips. Thinking back to last night, it's a wonder I'm not dead. The car had missed me by a matter of inches. My heart beat faster just thinking about how close it had been.

It was too dark to see the driver's face. But I'll never forget that laugh as long as I live. The car had been aimed directly at me. Which one of them was driving? The car seemed familiar. I looked for a paper to write down everything I could remember about the car, driver and that laugh. A '55 Chevy...seafoam green...and that laugh. It was deep and resonant, yet also had a high-pitched screaming sound to it.

I was almost sure. The driver was Gunter, my colleague and closest friend. And though I was having trouble believing it, the passenger beside him was my wife Vanessa.

I stumbled up the stairs to our bedroom, my head throbbing. God, I'd always hated that chenille bedspread. I began rifling through Vanessa's bureau drawers, tossing unmentionables carelessly as I searched, looking for something tangible, something to explain her presence in that car.

Having emptied the dressers and half the closet, I drop my exhausted body prostrate on the bed. I still have a nagging feeling there is some clue to be found. I donít know what Iím looking for and I donít even know if Iím looking in the right place.

Then it hits me like a champagne hangover; the greenhouse! It made perfect sense. My god, how many hours did she spend in that dank place?

But I had asked a million times, and she assured me there was nothing between her and Gunter. And I believed her. But now Ö now what was I to believe. Especially after she had told me she was going out with Sarah and Melanie last night. I thought she looked, and smelled, too good when she left to just be hanging out with the girls.

I needed to make a call. I reached over to grab the phone, when I realized something was missing from the nightstand.

It's subtle; most would never notice. But I know Vanessa and how she hates to clean. The nightstand, perpetually covered with
dust, is spotless -- heck, the whole room has been cleaned.

I rubbed my face to wash my eyes of daylightís stain and strained to focus on the individual details of the dimly lit room.

I slowly slid the nightstand drawer open. There, in a little golden heap, lay the bracelet I had given Van on our third anniversary. I squinted hard to read the word "asshole" scrawled on the small piece of paper beside it. It was NOT my wife's handwriting.

I picked up the delicate golden strand and draped it over my hand, feeling its soft coolness against my skin. Where had we gone wrong ? One hot tear fell on the woven links, slid rapidly down the length of the chain, and landed in my lap. I hadn't cried since I was six.

After crying for what felt like days, I finally got up off the bed. I knew I had to do something. I reached for the phone again and dialed Stanley's number.

It wasn't long before I was sitting beneath the haze of a hundred cigarettes. Waitresses were shouting over the pounding din, pouring drinks, making change in unmentionable places. Stanley waved in another drink for me; my head spun as I tried to focus on the stage.

Stanley thinks my mind is playing tricks on me -- that I'm jumping to conclusions. "You need to get yourself distracted," he said. Perhaps he's right, at least for tonight. The woman taking the stage did the job, too -- perhaps too well.

The fistful of money he held tight in his grip was the exact amount that made the dancer leave her spotlight and come down off the stage into my lap. I stopped thinking abiout Van, I stopped thinking completely. I surrendered to her velvety touch.
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Old 06-18-2003, 03:46 AM   #25
simedog
makes ya think, don't it?
 
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Join Date: May 2003
Location: winter park, floreeeeeeda
Posts: 35
I walked in the door.

Like any other day. But today was not like any other day. And as though to prove it, nobody came to greet me.

I let a long sigh escape my lips. Thinking back to last night, it's a wonder I'm not dead. The car had missed me by a matter of inches. My heart beat faster just thinking about how close it had been.

It was too dark to see the driver's face. But I'll never forget that laugh as long as I live. The car had been aimed directly at me. Which one of them was driving? The car seemed familiar. I looked for a paper to write down everything I could remember about the car, driver and that laugh. A '55 Chevy...seafoam green...and that laugh. It was deep and resonant, yet also had a high-pitched screaming sound to it.

I was almost sure. The driver was Gunter, my colleague and closest friend. And though I was having trouble believing it, the passenger beside him was my wife Vanessa.

I stumbled up the stairs to our bedroom, my head throbbing. God, I'd always hated that chenille bedspread. I began rifling through Vanessa's bureau drawers, tossing unmentionables carelessly as I searched, looking for something tangible, something to explain her presence in that car.

Having emptied the dressers and half the closet, I drop my exhausted body prostrate on the bed. I still have a nagging feeling there is some clue to be found. I donít know what Iím looking for and I donít even know if Iím looking in the right place.

Then it hits me like a champagne hangover; the greenhouse! It made perfect sense. My god, how many hours did she spend in that dank place?

But I had asked a million times, and she assured me there was nothing between her and Gunter. And I believed her. But now Ö now what was I to believe. Especially after she had told me she was going out with Sarah and Melanie last night. I thought she looked, and smelled, too good when she left to just be hanging out with the girls.

I needed to make a call. I reached over to grab the phone, when I realized something was missing from the nightstand.

It's subtle; most would never notice. But I know Vanessa and how she hates to clean. The nightstand, perpetually covered with
dust, is spotless -- heck, the whole room has been cleaned.

I rubbed my face to wash my eyes of daylightís stain and strained to focus on the individual details of the dimly lit room.

I slowly slid the nightstand drawer open. There, in a little golden heap, lay the bracelet I had given Van on our third anniversary. I squinted hard to read the word "asshole" scrawled on the small piece of paper beside it. It was NOT my wife's handwriting.

I picked up the delicate golden strand and draped it over my hand, feeling its soft coolness against my skin. Where had we gone wrong ? One hot tear fell on the woven links, slid rapidly down the length of the chain, and landed in my lap. I hadn't cried since I was six.

After crying for what felt like days, I finally got up off the bed. I knew I had to do something. I reached for the phone again and dialed Stanley's number.

It wasn't long before I was sitting beneath the haze of a hundred cigarettes. Waitresses were shouting over the pounding din, pouring drinks, making change in unmentionable places. Stanley waved in another drink for me; my head spun as I tried to focus on the stage.

Stanley thinks my mind is playing tricks on me -- that I'm jumping to conclusions. "You need to get yourself distracted," he said. Perhaps he's right, at least for tonight. The woman taking the stage did the job, too -- perhaps too well.

The fistful of money he held tight in his grip was the exact amount that made the dancer leave her spotlight and come down off the stage into my lap. I stopped thinking abiout Van, I stopped thinking completely. I surrendered to her velvety touch.

She took me by the hand and led me away from Stanley. By this point I was too inebriated to really know what was going on, and eventually I found myself in some dark back room. It looked like it was used for storage; the room was filled with crates and dusty cardboard boxes.
__________________
dog food stalls with the beefcake pantyhose
kill the headlights and put it in neutral
stock car flamin' with a loser and the cruise control
baby's in Reno with the vitamin D

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Old 06-18-2003, 06:28 PM   #26
Deviate
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Join Date: Sep 2002
Location: the other side of normal
Posts: 5,863
I walked in the door.

Like any other day. But today was not like any other day. And as though to prove it, nobody came to greet me.

I let a long sigh escape my lips. Thinking back to last night, it's a wonder I'm not dead. The car had missed me by a matter of inches. My heart beat faster just thinking about how close it had been.

It was too dark to see the driver's face. But I'll never forget that laugh as long as I live. The car had been aimed directly at me. Which one of them was driving? The car seemed familiar. I looked for a paper to write down everything I could remember about the car, driver and that laugh. A '55 Chevy...seafoam green...and that laugh. It was deep and resonant, yet also had a high-pitched screaming sound to it.

I was almost sure. The driver was Gunter, my colleague and closest friend. And though I was having trouble believing it, the passenger beside him was my wife Vanessa.

I stumbled up the stairs to our bedroom, my head throbbing. God, I'd always hated that chenille bedspread. I began rifling through Vanessa's bureau drawers, tossing unmentionables carelessly as I searched, looking for something tangible, something to explain her presence in that car.

Having emptied the dressers and half the closet, I drop my exhausted body prostrate on the bed. I still have a nagging feeling there is some clue to be found. I donít know what Iím looking for and I donít even know if Iím looking in the right place.

Then it hits me like a champagne hangover; the greenhouse! It made perfect sense. My god, how many hours did she spend in that dank place?

But I had asked a million times, and she assured me there was nothing between her and Gunter. And I believed her. But now Ö now what was I to believe. Especially after she had told me she was going out with Sarah and Melanie last night. I thought she looked, and smelled, too good when she left to just be hanging out with the girls.

I needed to make a call. I reached over to grab the phone, when I realized something was missing from the nightstand.

It's subtle; most would never notice. But I know Vanessa and how she hates to clean. The nightstand, perpetually covered with
dust, is spotless -- heck, the whole room has been cleaned.

I rubbed my face to wash my eyes of daylightís stain and strained to focus on the individual details of the dimly lit room.

I slowly slid the nightstand drawer open. There, in a little golden heap, lay the bracelet I had given Van on our third anniversary. I squinted hard to read the word "asshole" scrawled on the small piece of paper beside it. It was NOT my wife's handwriting.

I picked up the delicate golden strand and draped it over my hand, feeling its soft coolness against my skin. Where had we gone wrong ? One hot tear fell on the woven links, slid rapidly down the length of the chain, and landed in my lap. I hadn't cried since I was six.

After crying for what felt like days, I finally got up off the bed. I knew I had to do something. I reached for the phone again and dialed Stanley's number.

It wasn't long before I was sitting beneath the haze of a hundred cigarettes. Waitresses were shouting over the pounding din, pouring drinks, making change in unmentionable places. Stanley waved in another drink for me; my head spun as I tried to focus on the stage.

Stanley thinks my mind is playing tricks on me -- that I'm jumping to conclusions. "You need to get yourself distracted," he said. Perhaps he's right, at least for tonight. The woman taking the stage did the job, too -- perhaps too well.

The fistful of money he held tight in his grip was the exact amount that made the dancer leave her spotlight and come down off the stage into my lap. I stopped thinking abiout Van, I stopped thinking completely. I surrendered to her velvety touch.

She took me by the hand and led me away from Stanley. By this point I was too inebriated to really know what was going on, and eventually I found myself in some dark back room. It looked like it was used for storage; the room was filled with crates and dusty cardboard boxes.

The siren slowly slipped my shirt off over my head. Fingers, lips, soft skin played seductively across my body. I shut my eyes and opened my mouth, sipping in each sweet second of complete pleasure.
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Old 06-19-2003, 01:49 AM   #27
simedog
makes ya think, don't it?
 
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Join Date: May 2003
Location: winter park, floreeeeeeda
Posts: 35
I walked in the door.

Like any other day. But today was not like any other day. And as though to prove it, nobody came to greet me.

I let a long sigh escape my lips. Thinking back to last night, it's a wonder I'm not dead. The car had missed me by a matter of inches. My heart beat faster just thinking about how close it had been.

It was too dark to see the driver's face. But I'll never forget that laugh as long as I live. The car had been aimed directly at me. Which one of them was driving? The car seemed familiar. I looked for a paper to write down everything I could remember about the car, driver and that laugh. A '55 Chevy...seafoam green...and that laugh. It was deep and resonant, yet also had a high-pitched screaming sound to it.

I was almost sure. The driver was Gunter, my colleague and closest friend. And though I was having trouble believing it, the passenger beside him was my wife Vanessa.

I stumbled up the stairs to our bedroom, my head throbbing. God, I'd always hated that chenille bedspread. I began rifling through Vanessa's bureau drawers, tossing unmentionables carelessly as I searched, looking for something tangible, something to explain her presence in that car.

Having emptied the dressers and half the closet, I drop my exhausted body prostrate on the bed. I still have a nagging feeling there is some clue to be found. I donít know what Iím looking for and I donít even know if Iím looking in the right place.

Then it hits me like a champagne hangover; the greenhouse! It made perfect sense. My god, how many hours did she spend in that dank place?

But I had asked a million times, and she assured me there was nothing between her and Gunter. And I believed her. But now Ö now what was I to believe. Especially after she had told me she was going out with Sarah and Melanie last night. I thought she looked, and smelled, too good when she left to just be hanging out with the girls.

I needed to make a call. I reached over to grab the phone, when I realized something was missing from the nightstand.

It's subtle; most would never notice. But I know Vanessa and how she hates to clean. The nightstand, perpetually covered with
dust, is spotless -- heck, the whole room has been cleaned.

I rubbed my face to wash my eyes of daylightís stain and strained to focus on the individual details of the dimly lit room.

I slowly slid the nightstand drawer open. There, in a little golden heap, lay the bracelet I had given Van on our third anniversary. I squinted hard to read the word "asshole" scrawled on the small piece of paper beside it. It was NOT my wife's handwriting.

I picked up the delicate golden strand and draped it over my hand, feeling its soft coolness against my skin. Where had we gone wrong ? One hot tear fell on the woven links, slid rapidly down the length of the chain, and landed in my lap. I hadn't cried since I was six.

After crying for what felt like days, I finally got up off the bed. I knew I had to do something. I reached for the phone again and dialed Stanley's number.

It wasn't long before I was sitting beneath the haze of a hundred cigarettes. Waitresses were shouting over the pounding din, pouring drinks, making change in unmentionable places. Stanley waved in another drink for me; my head spun as I tried to focus on the stage.

Stanley thinks my mind is playing tricks on me -- that I'm jumping to conclusions. "You need to get yourself distracted," he said. Perhaps he's right, at least for tonight. The woman taking the stage did the job, too -- perhaps too well.

The fistful of money he held tight in his grip was the exact amount that made the dancer leave her spotlight and come down off the stage into my lap. I stopped thinking abiout Van, I stopped thinking completely. I surrendered to her velvety touch.

She took me by the hand and led me away from Stanley. By this point I was too inebriated to really know what was going on, and eventually I found myself in some dark back room. It looked like it was used for storage; the room was filled with crates and dusty cardboard boxes.

The siren slowly slipped my shirt off over my head. Fingers, lips, soft skin played seductively across my body. I shut my eyes and opened my mouth, sipping in each sweet second of complete pleasure. Suddenly the alcohol took in full effect and I knew I was going to be sick. After that I can't remember anything. I don't know if I passed out or not, it's all too hazy.
__________________
dog food stalls with the beefcake pantyhose
kill the headlights and put it in neutral
stock car flamin' with a loser and the cruise control
baby's in Reno with the vitamin D

simon
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Old 06-21-2003, 02:38 AM   #28
lapietra
half baked
 
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Join Date: Sep 2002
Location: just ducky
Posts: 12,078
I walked in the door.

Like any other day. But today was not like any other day. And as though to prove it, nobody came to greet me.

I let a long sigh escape my lips. Thinking back to last night, it's a wonder I'm not dead. The car had missed me by a matter of inches. My heart beat faster just thinking about how close it had been.

It was too dark to see the driver's face. But I'll never forget that laugh as long as I live. The car had been aimed directly at me. Which one of them was driving? The car seemed familiar. I looked for a paper to write down everything I could remember about the car, driver and that laugh. A '55 Chevy...seafoam green...and that laugh. It was deep and resonant, yet also had a high-pitched screaming sound to it.

I was almost sure. The driver was Gunter, my colleague and closest friend. And though I was having trouble believing it, the passenger beside him was my wife Vanessa.

I stumbled up the stairs to our bedroom, my head throbbing. God, I'd always hated that chenille bedspread. I began rifling through Vanessa's bureau drawers, tossing unmentionables carelessly as I searched, looking for something tangible, something to explain her presence in that car.

Having emptied the dressers and half the closet, I drop my exhausted body prostrate on the bed. I still have a nagging feeling there is some clue to be found. I donít know what Iím looking for and I donít even know if Iím looking in the right place.

Then it hits me like a champagne hangover; the greenhouse! It made perfect sense. My god, how many hours did she spend in that dank place?

But I had asked a million times, and she assured me there was nothing between her and Gunter. And I believed her. But now Ö now what was I to believe. Especially after she had told me she was going out with Sarah and Melanie last night. I thought she looked, and smelled, too good when she left to just be hanging out with the girls.

I needed to make a call. I reached over to grab the phone, when I realized something was missing from the nightstand.

It's subtle; most would never notice. But I know Vanessa and how she hates to clean. The nightstand, perpetually covered with
dust, is spotless -- heck, the whole room has been cleaned.

I rubbed my face to wash my eyes of daylightís stain and strained to focus on the individual details of the dimly lit room.

I slowly slid the nightstand drawer open. There, in a little golden heap, lay the bracelet I had given Van on our third anniversary. I squinted hard to read the word "asshole" scrawled on the small piece of paper beside it. It was NOT my wife's handwriting.

I picked up the delicate golden strand and draped it over my hand, feeling its soft coolness against my skin. Where had we gone wrong ? One hot tear fell on the woven links, slid rapidly down the length of the chain, and landed in my lap. I hadn't cried since I was six.

After crying for what felt like days, I finally got up off the bed. I knew I had to do something. I reached for the phone again and dialed Stanley's number.

It wasn't long before I was sitting beneath the haze of a hundred cigarettes. Waitresses were shouting over the pounding din, pouring drinks, making change in unmentionable places. Stanley waved in another drink for me; my head spun as I tried to focus on the stage.

Stanley thinks my mind is playing tricks on me -- that I'm jumping to conclusions. "You need to get yourself distracted," he said. Perhaps he's right, at least for tonight. The woman taking the stage did the job, too -- perhaps too well.

The fistful of money he held tight in his grip was the exact amount that made the dancer leave her spotlight and come down off the stage into my lap. I stopped thinking abiout Van, I stopped thinking completely. I surrendered to her velvety touch.

She took me by the hand and led me away from Stanley. By this point I was too inebriated to really know what was going on, and eventually I found myself in some dark back room. It looked like it was used for storage; the room was filled with crates and dusty cardboard boxes.

The siren slowly slipped my shirt off over my head. Fingers, lips, soft skin played seductively across my body. I shut my eyes and opened my mouth, sipping in each sweet second of complete pleasure. Suddenly the alcohol took in full effect and I knew I was going to be sick. After that I can't remember anything. I don't know if I passed out or not, it's all too hazy.

I slowly became aware of daylight past my closed lids... opened them... saw a huge freaking cockroach about two inches away from my nose. "CHRIST!" I rasped, as I leapt off the floor, only to bash my already throbbing head on the wall in back of me. The room reeked of puke, mildew and dust. Somehow I found my way out... only to realize my jacket, with my wallet in the pocket, was gone.
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Old 06-24-2003, 11:23 PM   #29
Guido
monkey
 
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Join Date: Jun 2003
Location: IL
Posts: 15
I walked in the door.

Like any other day. But today was not like any other day. And as though to prove it, nobody came to greet me.

I let a long sigh escape my lips. Thinking back to last night, it's a wonder I'm not dead. The car had missed me by a matter of inches. My heart beat faster just thinking about how close it had been.

It was too dark to see the driver's face. But I'll never forget that laugh as long as I live. The car had been aimed directly at me. Which one of them was driving? The car seemed familiar. I looked for a paper to write down everything I could remember about the car, driver and that laugh. A '55 Chevy...seafoam green...and that laugh. It was deep and resonant, yet also had a high-pitched screaming sound to it.

I was almost sure. The driver was Gunter, my colleague and closest friend. And though I was having trouble believing it, the passenger beside him was my wife Vanessa.

I stumbled up the stairs to our bedroom, my head throbbing. God, I'd always hated that chenille bedspread. I began rifling through Vanessa's bureau drawers, tossing unmentionables carelessly as I searched, looking for something tangible, something to explain her presence in that car.

Having emptied the dressers and half the closet, I drop my exhausted body prostrate on the bed. I still have a nagging feeling there is some clue to be found. I donít know what Iím looking for and I donít even know if Iím looking in the right place.

Then it hits me like a champagne hangover; the greenhouse! It made perfect sense. My god, how many hours did she spend in that dank place?

But I had asked a million times, and she assured me there was nothing between her and Gunter. And I believed her. But now Ö now what was I to believe. Especially after she had told me she was going out with Sarah and Melanie last night. I thought she looked, and smelled, too good when she left to just be hanging out with the girls.

I needed to make a call. I reached over to grab the phone, when I realized something was missing from the nightstand.

It's subtle; most would never notice. But I know Vanessa and how she hates to clean. The nightstand, perpetually covered with
dust, is spotless -- heck, the whole room has been cleaned.

I rubbed my face to wash my eyes of daylightís stain and strained to focus on the individual details of the dimly lit room.

I slowly slid the nightstand drawer open. There, in a little golden heap, lay the bracelet I had given Van on our third anniversary. I squinted hard to read the word "asshole" scrawled on the small piece of paper beside it. It was NOT my wife's handwriting.

I picked up the delicate golden strand and draped it over my hand, feeling its soft coolness against my skin. Where had we gone wrong ? One hot tear fell on the woven links, slid rapidly down the length of the chain, and landed in my lap. I hadn't cried since I was six.

After crying for what felt like days, I finally got up off the bed. I knew I had to do something. I reached for the phone again and dialed Stanley's number.

It wasn't long before I was sitting beneath the haze of a hundred cigarettes. Waitresses were shouting over the pounding din, pouring drinks, making change in unmentionable places. Stanley waved in another drink for me; my head spun as I tried to focus on the stage.

Stanley thinks my mind is playing tricks on me -- that I'm jumping to conclusions. "You need to get yourself distracted," he said. Perhaps he's right, at least for tonight. The woman taking the stage did the job, too -- perhaps too well.

The fistful of money he held tight in his grip was the exact amount that made the dancer leave her spotlight and come down off the stage into my lap. I stopped thinking abiout Van, I stopped thinking completely. I surrendered to her velvety touch.

She took me by the hand and led me away from Stanley. By this point I was too inebriated to really know what was going on, and eventually I found myself in some dark back room. It looked like it was used for storage; the room was filled with crates and dusty cardboard boxes.

The siren slowly slipped my shirt off over my head. Fingers, lips, soft skin played seductively across my body. I shut my eyes and opened my mouth, sipping in each sweet second of complete pleasure. Suddenly the alcohol took in full effect and I knew I was going to be sick. After that I can't remember anything. I don't know if I passed out or not, it's all too hazy.

I slowly became aware of daylight past my closed lids ... opened them ... saw a huge freaking cockroach about two inches away from my nose. "CHRIST!" I rasped, as I leapt off the floor, only to bash my already throbbing head on the wall in back of me. The room reeked of puke, mildew and dust. Somehow I found my way out ... only to realize my jacket, with my wallet in the pocket, was gone.

Half-stumbling down the sidewalk, I attempt to make my way home. I catch a wiff of something as I round the corner of Main and Laguna -- some ungodly odor eminating from my shirt pocket. I reach in to see what the source of the stench could be.

Last edited by Guido : 06-24-2003 at 11:31 PM.
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Old 06-26-2003, 03:01 AM   #30
simedog
makes ya think, don't it?
 
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Join Date: May 2003
Location: winter park, floreeeeeeda
Posts: 35
I walked in the door.

Like any other day. But today was not like any other day. And as though to prove it, nobody came to greet me.

I let a long sigh escape my lips. Thinking back to last night, it's a wonder I'm not dead. The car had missed me by a matter of inches. My heart beat faster just thinking about how close it had been.

It was too dark to see the driver's face. But I'll never forget that laugh as long as I live. The car had been aimed directly at me. Which one of them was driving? The car seemed familiar. I looked for a paper to write down everything I could remember about the car, driver and that laugh. A '55 Chevy...seafoam green...and that laugh. It was deep and resonant, yet also had a high-pitched screaming sound to it.

I was almost sure. The driver was Gunter, my colleague and closest friend. And though I was having trouble believing it, the passenger beside him was my wife Vanessa.

I stumbled up the stairs to our bedroom, my head throbbing. God, I'd always hated that chenille bedspread. I began rifling through Vanessa's bureau drawers, tossing unmentionables carelessly as I searched, looking for something tangible, something to explain her presence in that car.

Having emptied the dressers and half the closet, I drop my exhausted body prostrate on the bed. I still have a nagging feeling there is some clue to be found. I donít know what Iím looking for and I donít even know if Iím looking in the right place.

Then it hits me like a champagne hangover; the greenhouse! It made perfect sense. My god, how many hours did she spend in that dank place?

But I had asked a million times, and she assured me there was nothing between her and Gunter. And I believed her. But now Ö now what was I to believe. Especially after she had told me she was going out with Sarah and Melanie last night. I thought she looked, and smelled, too good when she left to just be hanging out with the girls.

I needed to make a call. I reached over to grab the phone, when I realized something was missing from the nightstand.

It's subtle; most would never notice. But I know Vanessa and how she hates to clean. The nightstand, perpetually covered with
dust, is spotless -- heck, the whole room has been cleaned.

I rubbed my face to wash my eyes of daylightís stain and strained to focus on the individual details of the dimly lit room.

I slowly slid the nightstand drawer open. There, in a little golden heap, lay the bracelet I had given Van on our third anniversary. I squinted hard to read the word "asshole" scrawled on the small piece of paper beside it. It was NOT my wife's handwriting.

I picked up the delicate golden strand and draped it over my hand, feeling its soft coolness against my skin. Where had we gone wrong ? One hot tear fell on the woven links, slid rapidly down the length of the chain, and landed in my lap. I hadn't cried since I was six.

After crying for what felt like days, I finally got up off the bed. I knew I had to do something. I reached for the phone again and dialed Stanley's number.

It wasn't long before I was sitting beneath the haze of a hundred cigarettes. Waitresses were shouting over the pounding din, pouring drinks, making change in unmentionable places. Stanley waved in another drink for me; my head spun as I tried to focus on the stage.

Stanley thinks my mind is playing tricks on me -- that I'm jumping to conclusions. "You need to get yourself distracted," he said. Perhaps he's right, at least for tonight. The woman taking the stage did the job, too -- perhaps too well.

The fistful of money he held tight in his grip was the exact amount that made the dancer leave her spotlight and come down off the stage into my lap. I stopped thinking abiout Van, I stopped thinking completely. I surrendered to her velvety touch.

She took me by the hand and led me away from Stanley. By this point I was too inebriated to really know what was going on, and eventually I found myself in some dark back room. It looked like it was used for storage; the room was filled with crates and dusty cardboard boxes.

The siren slowly slipped my shirt off over my head. Fingers, lips, soft skin played seductively across my body. I shut my eyes and opened my mouth, sipping in each sweet second of complete pleasure. Suddenly the alcohol took in full effect and I knew I was going to be sick. After that I can't remember anything. I don't know if I passed out or not, it's all too hazy.

I slowly became aware of daylight past my closed lids ... opened them ... saw a huge freaking cockroach about two inches away from my nose. "CHRIST!" I rasped, as I leapt off the floor, only to bash my already throbbing head on the wall in back of me. The room reeked of puke, mildew and dust. Somehow I found my way out ... only to realize my jacket, with my wallet in the pocket, was gone.

Half-stumbling down the sidewalk, I attempt to make my way home. I catch a wiff of something as I round the corner of Main and Laguna -- some ungodly odor eminating from my shirt pocket. I reach in to see what the source of the stench could be. My fingers touched at what first felt like moldy food. It took me a second to realize it wasn't moldy food at all. It was almost a dirt-like substance.
__________________
dog food stalls with the beefcake pantyhose
kill the headlights and put it in neutral
stock car flamin' with a loser and the cruise control
baby's in Reno with the vitamin D

simon
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