Thursday, June 9, 2016

Clamp's Catch

So Clamp shows up late, unfashionably, not for lack of trying least, in the usual gray wool getup, except this time, with a new accessory.

About three feet away is a tall sturdy brunette, twenty or thirty years his junior, who would be quite compelling if she were Angelica Huston, just like Clamp might bring Tony Bennett to one's mind, at least in his own bathroom mirror.

With a crisp, well-combed presentation in a lavender top, long skirt and a concentrated silence that hints an intense wish to be invisible, she doesn't even keep step with him, and just may have left her soul at home until she can figure out exactly what to do with her somewhat shorter companion and the next couple of hours.

The Humpty Dance

Your Hero shall remain nameless, as he cannot remember his name at the moment, had to step back into the crisp autumn to get his head, flashing lights were never a good thing.

The shindig, at someone's house had a DJ, didn't see anyone he knew, thankfully, was too dark, just shadows bouncing about to that rap song with, with the big nose and that sliding bass. He'd heard the words before but not tonight, just that bass ripping through your body. Things had started way before he got there after work, and the door knob was practically buzzing in his hand, he got halfway through the living room when he gained a plausible deniability to belief.

You can't think in there, resistance is futile, you will be assimilated. Can't communicate with words like a normal person, it all ran together, except - either real or imagined, the only human eye contact was with a girl that kinda looked familiar, at least in violet-tinted sepia, bobbing in perfect beat, she got moves, with the head and arms, lip syncing the female chorus echo, however it goes, her lips said, OH OH OH DO ME BABY! as the bass saws away at the foundations, eyes locked on his. It was about then he felt his upper chest tighten, for the first time ever, cut to black till he hit the fresh air.

First of all...what happened to the days when radio played Billy Squire and ZZ Top and stuff with guitar?

Chicks gotta shake their butts it seems, sooner or later it boils down to that. Speaking of, just who the hell was she anyway, from school, did she come into the store?

Oh, yeah, duh, Brent Green had talked him into showing up whenever tonight, big bash for those surviving the fall quarter at tech college, so she's either a regular or guilty by association. It's all coming back now, just need to find his car.

Heart is still racing but he doesn't need to hold his hands above his head any more. That's never happened, never had asthma, still light headed. And how in hell do they even stand it in there?

Sometimes it's hard to keep respect for one's peers, like when dudes from school come into the store wanting funnels and tubing for a beer bong, or that one year where every Monday in study hall seems all you heard was someone's parents were away, everyone showed up and the carpet got ruined, and then now, it's all about guys we know getting deployed over in Saudi Arabia since some smartass dictator got too big for his breeches and they're thinking of reinstating the draft.

On the other hand, thinking is definitely overrated. Sometimes.

Ok, found the car, this was all a bad dream and hopefully they were all too blitzed, buds to the wiser, a shower will do wonders, and it's Saturday night so that public FM station, 90 point something is playing jazz.

Now that works.