Archive for the ‘Tick-tockers’ Category

John Three offered a Rosy.
“Lay down, Lady. Lay down!”
I ain’t no Melanie, but Rosy speaks to me, and if it folds and Johns are a-wavin’ ’em I’ll put ’em in my pocket, no second thinky-think.
Winky-wink, “Oh Darla dear. You see me? See? See Johnny Three? Hee hee!”
John Three looked Marmaduke, droopy-drippy, weazlin’ for a wash, and I pinched my beak, told him “Pee-ew!”
Up in The Pit I pulled a Rosy-posy. No rushing in-out needed when Rosy’s flashed about. Unclipped, struck-a-strick, lit
a Lucky Strike.
Put a foot up on the sill, show leg to Johnny Boy while he preened and oiled. I sent clouds out over the street, carefully positioned elbow on knee, all contemplative sex-a-tative, window gazing Venus. Waiting-wanting-ready.
We all know Rosy means Johnny Three gets himself a show. And Johnny knows best.
I try a little harder, “Oh yes, Johnny! Yes!”

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We whack, weaselin’ it away werrily, all merrily marmot.
On the black-top, bossing brothers to pull over to the curb left and right, pouring ourselves into the neon ticky-tacky night.
Don’t reach too far or we’ll roll over, Rover. Cracklin’, Jackie.
Sapphires and emeralds, sprack-a-sparklin’ out in the dark, diamond-trails all red and cherry, scarlet berries all a-garnet.
Stroll down West to the bottom o’ the Quay, shinin’ chrome and glass all slidin’ by. Passin’ Sally and Darla workin’ over some Joe, Darla looks, scales all shivery, hackles a-risin’ high and that looks clear as day;
“We don’t pass up no opportunity, don’t ya know? Not here, down low where the oily streets are littered and riddled.
Life or death, Lucille, so lick it up.”
Most people I know back home think I’m the whole bag o’ God-damn nuts, but I found my place here, with the crooks and the thieves and the crass, painted sluts and the whorin’ gold-diggers. My chips are cashed, coins ship-shape and safe in the bank, everything’s all Secret Squirreled.
Not long before I found a soft touch o’ my own. Yoo hoo!
Only gave me a little, gotta take my chances when I get ’em. Tell’ em “Gimme some more. I need a little more.” And if Joe walks away with his fists snug in his pockets then it’s “Well, God-damn you!”