NEWARK An unidenitified woman in the Ironbound area refused to allow me to park my truck in her 5000 square foot loft. However, swirling her cape like a matador, she seduced me down the street and into a row house where a Portugese woman in pyjamas, for a hundred dollars cash money, directed me to a parking space I could call my own for the next month. The driver of the car in the next stall will not be amused when he or she tries to get out without clipping our fenders. I woke up the next morning and for a second, I didn't know where the truck was before remembering—ah, yes—steelbound.
1 comment:
Cold bold prose. start Newark end steelbound. Gonna say it again, you are such a tuff true writer. I can always smell your wicked spice on the brain.
Nice pic too. What happened to the naked man in the kitchen? U keeping him for yourself?
Give us some dick, mama C. You always slay me.
Post a Comment