Tuesday, October 19, 2010

mobius condo 3/3

loathsome blue pseudo-parchment, nor the collection of warped vinyl records stored by her brother under the sink in his mobile home. All of that was history, from this day forth! He went into the kitchen, opened a drawer, and took out a knife.

"No!" she screamed, as he moved towards her, treading implacably on the Sears "Persian" carpet. Pretentious piece of junk, he thought. Still, it was worth something, better not to spill anything on it. Faint screams came from the apartment below, shots, then more screams. The tea kettle began to whistle.

Emily backed out onto the balcony, and he followed, like a fork stalking a pea. Billy advanced onto the balcony, where Emily was entangled in the ferns. She uttered little mewls of fear and knocked over an African violet. She appeared to have wet herself.

"Let me help you with that," he muttered, and cut away her left sleeve. It was a revolting mélange of anthropomorphic farm animals. He cast it aside.

"I'd better slip into something more comfortable," she said, "this g-string is a pain in the ass." She ducked under his arm and headed to the laundry room. Billy picked up the African violet. It was dead anyway ... overwatered. He looked over the balcony. There, 5 stories below him, a brilliant red '57 Chevy was parked illegally. Several meter maids clustered around it like kids at an ice-cream truck. One straddled the driver's-side mirror, sliding a ticket under the wiper blade. Billy dropped the plant, scoring a direct hit on the hood of the car and spraying the girl with dirt. The doorbell rang. It was Chartreuse, looking a little the worse for wear. He staggered in and collapsed on a chair. "Got any beer?" he gasped.

When Emily reemerged they were playing cards. She had not changed her clothes.

"Do you like my new car? It's a Fillmore."*
"Yeah, it's really cool. Deal. And by the way, where are my records?" Billy was playing it close to his chest. Emily shifted nervously in her chair. She was getting thirsty. Chartreuse scowled and spat on the floor. Billy belched. It was quiet, very quiet. Some might say it was


*Due to Frank Zappa

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