from the short novel
Sooner or later when you ride Greyhound the pretty woman gets on the bus. This time it happens in Yuma. She come walking across the shopping-center parking lot arm-n-arm with her stud ~ a Hispanic skin-head in a baseball cap & t-shirt. They look smug and happy… The young lady jiggles along in a sleeveless low-neckline tight black-denim fit. She looks pretty good from a distance. She looks even better bobbing alone up the aisle ~ slender & long & pale & freckled & strands of long red-hair falling out of a sloppy bun…
She sits directly across the aisle from me. I rip off the glue and avert my eyes ~ look out my own window at a quaint Jack In The Box across the street & think, “Oh my oh my.”
Once the bus gets out of Yuma, the desert landscape gets significantly enthralling, the sacred feminine entity gets significantly relaxed, and I find myself to be a dirty old man glancing there & here & staring there, in Picture Book Heaven.
Then the plot thickens ~ like a brick slammed up against the side of the head. It absolutely knocks me out ~ when her warm thigh bumps into the suddenly no longer empty seat next to me & a voice girlishly bubbles & perks next my ear, “Are you Rawclyde?”
I turn my head and boom ~ I’m out. The blackout is complete. Apparently I can’t handle pretty women in my old age. I don’t know how long this blackout lasts. When I come to, her hand is squeezing my knee & she is worriedly asking me, “Are you okay?”
“No, I am not okay,” growl I. “And, yes, I am Rawclyde!”
“Glad to meet you.” She holds out her hand.
Limply I grab it. My head is spinning.
Her delicate fingers are warm and cool. Point-blankly & with outlandishly green green eyes she says, “I’m Submissivania Whapp, your partner on this mission.” When she smiles, her teeth magnificently ricochet the desert light from outside our galloping coach. With a roll of her eyeballs she adds, “I’m the White House’s other favorite secret agent.”
She has knocked me out again.
photo courtesy of
“Use things. Love People. Don’t Switch.”