Soul Diamond

Preview 1

She stepped onto the stage confident and strong with the full build and costume of a comic book heroine. Super Slut wears short, fold over ankle boots of soft red suede. Translucent crimson hose ride firm legs to a red leather waistlet and thin, leather thong up the crack of her exposed, picturesque ass tattooed left cheek with a gaudy red rose, right cheek a grinning skull with green dagger smashed through it; dangling between them a long french braid of dark red liquid hair.

Whatever depression clouds any man brought in are now scorched away by this blast furnace fantasy whore. Her uplifted breasts have natural sway, not unyielding bags of silicone. Instigative dark pink nipples are set off by peach blush skin, her face a hybrid of sharp chiseled features softened by the genetic roulette of an added race. She didn't bother with the standard slow strip over 3 songs. She brought it out full throttle in smoky funk to the Rolling Stone's 'Honky Tonk Women'. Disinterested men at video games, or men flirting with other dancer's at the bar, came quickly back to their seats around the stage. The bump and grind of Charlie Watt's bass drum moved her supple spine and directed her erotic dance. All the men are grateful this exotique has materialized on the stage of our humble eastside go-go bar on a desperate cold November Monday night.

Winter expired. Not that trees are Technicolor Disney cartoons with purple flowers springing doink, doink, doink, out the happy limbs. Hardly. Cold drizzling rain replaces snow, the anemic sun curtained in gray murky clouds. Everything is damp. Sinuses run free. The temperatures are cool with persistent wind. Combing my hair before leaving the apartment is pointless, the wind whips it into a ridiculous scoop. The spring ground is sown with muddy remnants of beer bottles and cigarette butts. A few car exhaust blackened snow clumps cling hard to street curbs. The traffic to work this morning oozes slow. I made it to the front of a line of cars at a stoplight; its electric duty a small, two lane street crossing a wide main avenue. The raw wet weather has settled in my bones. My fingers and toes are cold meat in my thin business socks. I have to use the car heater for windshield defrost. The radio is all buzz and static from the rain and wind. Anyone who lived here has gone through uncounted days like this, days when spring warmth should be here, not cold, wet misery

I looked to the car on my left. The driver stares ahead. It's Eddy, his arms draped across the top of his steering wheel in resignation. He's beyond tired. It's hard to wake up fully on these days, especially when you have no purpose. It makes me cringe to see him. These are the days Eddy bitterly chewed on all our lives. "Fu**ing rain and cold", he'd spit. " Where's spring? We don't even get spring after the god awful winters we go through. I'm getting out of this town."

Today Eddy is in slow motion. I would honk my horn but I stop myself from bothering him. I don't want to invade a private moment, no matter how bad. It will all burn away when summer comes. When it comes. The light changed and Eddy turned left and I went straight. I looked back and tried to send him hope. Crap. Your life's pretty screwed if I'm you're messenger of hope.