para mis noches de soledad.
Metal
Metal
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| A Heavy Metal chick in boots & garter asked of me, "Para mis noches de soledad?" I blinked into the question stupidly."What about my nights of solitude? What kind of a question is that to ask of me?" I blurted out in defense against the obvious appeal of such an offer. She turned around from the camera and looked dead into my eyes. "What about my nights?" I couldn't answer that with a straight face. There was too much implied and too much she knew about herself I knew nothing about. Chicks like her saw too much, and used to 'kick ass' men they didn't like or know what to do with some philosophical dude. But in her case they turned her on. She felt something deep within her broiling with the anticipation of something deeper and beyond her world that would 'fuck with her head', she was fond of saying when she got drunk or high. Someone passed her a lit Ashton cigar. "That's expensive," I said to her. "It is but I earned it and like to suck on something worthwhile." She squinted into the cloud of smoke slowly rising in front of her face, and for a moment suggestively probed my face for a reaction with a critical eye that followed the length of my thoughts arising from the stimulation in the room she controlled. - Gregory E. Woods 1.11.13 |
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