The smoke makes scrolls in the air as it rises from my cigarette. Here I lay in a cheap motel, w/ a snoring 40-something woman that I picked up at the lounge I was singing at tonight, nect to me. I thought I was on my way, 7 years ago, in L.A. Top 40 hit, played on the radio almost constantly... where'd it go? What went wrong? I sit up and sigh, reaching for the gin to wash this taste out.
The door does it's best to retain that name as it bursts in, the flimsy lock and chain barely even making a show. The doorway is filled with the siloutte of a huge man, balding, sweating, slabs of muscle covered in fat. The wife-beater and sweatpants don't really do much to add to his figure. Enormous hands writhe as the hairy fingers dance along the steel tire iron in their grasp. The woman (Carla?) sits up immediately, her sagging breasts puddling around her lap, "Larry!", she screams.
"You bitch!" shouts the mountain of male testosterone. I glance from him, to her and back to him. Reaching out, I point at the tire iron and his hands... I have skills, see. Steam rises into the dry desert air as my targets' temprature drops insanely fast. At the same time, I'm scooping up my pants, bounding across the bed and headed for the bathroom. Screw the shirt, I can get another. Thank God I left my wallet and car keys in my pants. Larry emits a sound between a bitten off scream and a grunt as he tries to let go of the tire iron, only to find it frozen there in his hands.
In the tiny room that's called a bathroom, there's a window on a wall of the shower. A rumble builds in my chest as I glare at the glass and aluminum frame, both of which are beginning to vibrate. C'mon, c'mon, Larry ain't gonna wait for much longer. Hopefully he'll vent on the wife/girlfriend/dick cozey long enou- YES!! The glass shatters and the aluminum twists out of the frame. With the speed of an Olympic athelete, I vault out of the window, cutting my feet alittle on the broken glass, and make my way full speed to my car and safety...