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Allen Clarke Allen Clarke
Recommendations: 18

Dirty Low Down

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She had a friend.

This writing contains explicit content and is only for adults. You have been warned.

I was bored one day, sat down and wrote this little ditty. Call me Walter Mitty..but..oh, what the hell, here goes nuttin.

I never mean it to start this way, but it always seems to find me.I guess if a guy gets used to rolling around in the dirt long enough, after awhile it kinda starts to feel normal.The last time it happened, I had intended to have a peaceful drink and reassess the direction that my life was headed. But, yeah, you guessed it, this sort of thing always seems to find me. Karma`s the shits, ain`t it? And, lately, she seems to be my constant companion.

Anyway, here I sits in the Broadway hotel just offa 15th and Central.This tub of lard starts mouthing off to me about how the government should send all us Indians to South America on a banana boat.Sometimes, it takes a while to get my goat. I would have let it slide, but his friend sitting next to him starts snuffing at the air like he smells something overly ripe in the air. I figure he should have continued making love to his tonic and gin. Perish the thought.

    It`s like I`m sitting in the middle of a bad dream. And yet, this scenario is hardly any different than a thousand times before.

    ``Hey, chief!``Lard says to me.
    I continue to meditate on my navel.Lighting up a fag,I watch the bubbles in my beer anticipating what always seems to follow the calm before the storm.In this life,I have met many people of ignorance. Some more so than others.
    ``You talking to me?``
    ``Yeah, you. Say, that`s some pretty long hair you got there.``
    ``Yeah, I`d have to say more than what you got.``
  He turned a crimson shade of dusty rose. A couple of ladies of the evening giggled over in the corner.I watched the smoke from my fag curl up to the ceiling. Overhead an ancient fan creaked and complained as it whirled about in its`incessant orbital path. I felt the weight of the man and the shuffling shift on the seat next to me.

His breath smelled like shit. My eyes teared over and it wasn`t because I was brimming over with the milk of human kindness. Clearly,he was getting just a bit too close and personal.He and I might have been friends, given the right circumstances, and perhaps in a different lifetime. But, for now, I had to deal with my present reality.

In the meantime his girlfriend had slid over next to him. She was a ``handsome woman``. And, I do say so, with tongue in cheek, for she had that certain bodily prescence of a lady mud-wrestler.Even in the dim light of the bar, I could discern a faint trace of facial hair gracing the area just above her top lip.She grunted in a mannish manner as she guzzled down her pint of ale. Belching loudly, she retrieved a laced pinkish hanky from her purse and wiped her thick,overly-lipsticked ruby-reds. She caught my gaze for a brief flicker in time and gave me a surreptitious bedeviled wink. And, she did so in a subversive manner so that her beau could not, by any means, percieve her subtle flirtation.

Surreptitiously, I lifted my left leg, and puffed out a subversive killer fluff. Lard was oblivious perhaps because his own body odour masked all other things malodorous.His lady friend snorted and caught it straight in the olfactory senses.
     ``Oooh, say, what kinda after-shave you wearing, big-boy?``she purred.
     To which Lard, became quite perturbed.

      `Hey...chief..find yer own beaver!`Lard says, with all the eloquence that his grade two education could muster.
     ``Are you talking to me...again?``
    ``I don`t see any other wood-Indian sitting beside you.``
    The man was at least partially right, since , to my recollection, I had never had any kind of problem achieving `wood.`` And, yet this little sumbitch was really starting to get under my craw. The one singular mistake he made was trying to paw at me. He had hands like a bear. I don`t expect what followed was part of the indie flick playing out in his head at that moment. One moment, he had his hand on my shoulder and the next he was waddling off to the men`s washroom. I smucked him on the side of his gut so fast and so hard that he just plain shit hisself right on the spot! And I ain`t shitting you either! I told you I could have passed for Walter Mitty!

2nd Entry

     I walked out into the cool night air puffing on my cheroot.The darkness was alive and well inside of me, and the blinking city lights made me think about Christmas...of all things.

      Down the dark alley, I shuffled on down, like I had some''darkie"in my ancestral lineage.Everywhere there was the sights and sounds of the urban wildlife. It's funny how the nightime always seem to bring all the low-life to life. Present company excluded, of course.A sudden gust of cool wind heralded the the ever-increasing possibility of mid-summer showers.Ah, yes. Prince Albert...ya gotts-ta love it. What the hell for? I don't know.

    Lighting up another cheroot, my thoughts took on a morbid tone. Recently, I had just heard about the demise of an old drinking friend.John A.had just drunk himself to endless oblivion.He left behind a grieving widow and three kids. My God, how the man loved the bottle!It could almost be truly said that he was strangely enamoured to the demon brew. Alas, that was the denoument of many of my kindred souses.

Hi, yeah, it`s me again. Thought you`d got rid of me, didn`t you? Not on your life...doll! I`m here to stay. Oh, yeah, now where was I? Oh, right about my friend, John. Just before he passed, I`d been humming this old 60`s tune called Abraham, Martin and...JOHN.I mean...holy shit!talk about my sur-frickin-prised psyche when I suddenly heard about his demise.Could it be that somehow or other we, in our finite human understanding don`t understand how things come to be?? Sorry about the drama, but, I suppose it`s all about the creative process. Anyway...back to my story.

    Oh yeah, so I goes ahead and I lights up another cheroot.It`s a lovely night with a quarter moon sailing off into the deeply blue of night.Coyotes yip off at the aurora borealis somewhere over yonder ridge. Traffic on the streets is starting to die away. However, there is still the occasional nighthawk checking around for cans or discarded cigarette butts. Continuing down the street, I re-adjust the wedgie bunching up around my gitch. It`s a beaut of a night alright!

3rd Attempt at Some Type of Lucidity

   Life is often like an empty canvas. It`s not until you get your shit together enough to decide what colours to paint your meager everyday existence that one might generate a little bit of`happy`to this great big thing called Life. And ain`t it like that unfinished novel that you been toying with for the past twenty year or so? But, hey, don`t get down on yourself. At least you`re not living The Dirty low Down like some do. Some will go to bed hungry tonight. And, no doubt, some will probably cry themself to sleep tonight. Hell, don`t matter if you`re sleeping in the ditch or in a big, fluffy King-Size mother-f``├Čn matt. If you can fall asleep with a clear conscience, I figure, that`s all that matters. Some people live their lives in fear of something they probably will never see. But don`t you be one of them. You hear?

   My name is Loden.Others have had the nerve to call me LowDown. But the fact is...they usually do it in my abscence.

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