A few nights awhile back, a friend and I walked in the rain to a south Philly strip-bar. It may of been a Friday or a Saturday; it doesn't matter. In the greater northeast of Philadelphia; we rode around on buses and trains most of the day; confused and mourning the death of some kind of infallible life or beloved existence we never had in the first place.
My friend had pills that he ordered online; kind of like generic speed I guess. I took way too many of them and chewed them instead of swallowing them. They were much too strong; I felt immediately that I could keel over at any moment from heart attack, or lack of sleep and nourishment. What is it that I started out to do? I certainly wasn't trying to prove anything to anyone.
The drinks at the strip-bar were too expensive; pretty much not worth the moment. People say that they feel bad for strippers; I couldn't help feeling sorry for myself being there; you gotta give them crumpled up dollar bills, you can even throw the bills at them if you like. People say that you should blame parents for begetting strippers; I strongly disagree with the idea, nobody's perfect. I waited tables for ten years; that was degrading- at least strippers know what to expect from customers: degenerate bachelors jacked up on speed or too drunk to perform in the first place.
Donna lived in a row-house on the outskirts of a populated city. She had three little boys all taken into state custody.
Eastern coastal patterns temporarily permitted sudden gusts of wind into open wintry transit station-lines; frost-ridden jet-streams rolled in from an vast icy Atlantic perimeter. Prime-time darkness descended then digressed off downtown street-cornered intersections. Irritable motorists tailed in off New Jersey turnpike tollway galleries, Interwoven traffic-light indigestion shrouds
the Ben Franklin Parkway
on daylight-saving evenings in February
Radio signals churn while pistons pounced dead and rubbery
vibrations anon automatic engine exteriors;
Sullen raindrops dribbled off fire-engine red aluminum detailing;
postponing Wednesday rush-hour transgression.
Donna pleaded with me upon familiar pastime-playing fields; her pale frigid fingers clasping tightly the wheel of her old man's Pontiac;
in Thursday afternoon traffic
behind a local school bus letting neighborhood kids back out into the rain
" If I could just have this one thing; Dan just let me have this one thing and I'll be good- I swear; It won't be like the last time; I promise."
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