Curiosity Industry
Part Two
Jim headed east, following the mighty Ohio. He had rolled back the top. The wind whistled through his ears and played humbly in his thinning hair. Filled with the kinda confidence only luxury provides, he felt the world would soon be at his feet. He pulled up to the Toad Stool Bar in Wrensville, wanting to see how the new car would play with the fairer sex.
“Your car?” the blonde next to him asked, pointing to the picture window, Jim had been careful to park in front of. Otherwise, what was the point of owning such a fine machine.
“Yeah sugar it’s mine. Want to go for a spin around the block.”
“Can’t. Meeting someone. You could buy me a drink, Mister?”
“I’m Jim.”
“I’m Miss Michelle Anderson.”
Miss Michelle Anderson claimed to be a dancer. Jim said that he was a manager. Neither of which was a total lie. She danced sometimes. Mainly to get the juicier parts of her package a-jigglin'. And he “handled talent” as he put it. Though some folks could question exactly what his performers were talented at besides scaring rubes.
Jim didn’t come here to impress with the whole story, just half of it. He’d planned to let the car fill in the rest. Happily, he found that Michelle was quick to cotton to the charms of a man who could call such a marvel of engineering his own. Before she left his side , she checked to make sure they were unobserved then leaned to Jim and whispered, “I'm leaving soon back to Chicago. Come back in two days and I’ll let you drive me home.” The afternoon heat combined with her gin breath produced an intoxicating aroma. Jim inhaled her greedily, like a horse sniffing after a coming storm.
Part Two
Jim headed east, following the mighty Ohio. He had rolled back the top. The wind whistled through his ears and played humbly in his thinning hair. Filled with the kinda confidence only luxury provides, he felt the world would soon be at his feet. He pulled up to the Toad Stool Bar in Wrensville, wanting to see how the new car would play with the fairer sex.
“Your car?” the blonde next to him asked, pointing to the picture window, Jim had been careful to park in front of. Otherwise, what was the point of owning such a fine machine.
“Yeah sugar it’s mine. Want to go for a spin around the block.”
“Can’t. Meeting someone. You could buy me a drink, Mister?”
“I’m Jim.”
“I’m Miss Michelle Anderson.”
Miss Michelle Anderson claimed to be a dancer. Jim said that he was a manager. Neither of which was a total lie. She danced sometimes. Mainly to get the juicier parts of her package a-jigglin'. And he “handled talent” as he put it. Though some folks could question exactly what his performers were talented at besides scaring rubes.
Jim didn’t come here to impress with the whole story, just half of it. He’d planned to let the car fill in the rest. Happily, he found that Michelle was quick to cotton to the charms of a man who could call such a marvel of engineering his own. Before she left his side , she checked to make sure they were unobserved then leaned to Jim and whispered, “I'm leaving soon back to Chicago. Come back in two days and I’ll let you drive me home.” The afternoon heat combined with her gin breath produced an intoxicating aroma. Jim inhaled her greedily, like a horse sniffing after a coming storm.
5 comments:
Who is this new blogger Roman Lelefski? He seems very mysterious.
He is indeed mysterious. Ladies swoon and men move aside. Roman proves that the pen is mightier than the sword. Unless Roman is the one with the sword. I hear he wears a monocle. Can anybody confirm that?
I have seen him with and without a monocle. Sexy as a Turkish bathhouse attendant no matter his choice of eye wear.
Quite a writer too!!
Is taking on my identity some kind of joke? I'm not amused. This snack car business is the fake Roman Lelefski, I am the real one. Don't be fooled. Please end this charade immediately.
Thank everyone for reading and for saying such lovely things about my monocle. To the confused young man with an identity complex....I hope this is not Georgi trying to pass himself off as me again. You have been warned Mr. Karpindonov.
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