ON BABYLON'S THRONE

What was that hideous smell?  It just would not do in this already frowzy metal tin can called a house.  The cold desert night impelled the heater to expel a whoosh of hot air through the floor vents vibrating the mobile home ever so slightly.  He positioned himself over the grilled slats and sniffed a grande huge whiff.  The odor blasting up the grates was so rancid it knocked him over onto the cheap avocado green carpet.  His memory fogged-  why was he even here?  The noble lankiness of his outstretched body began to slide along the rug’s harsh shag fibers scraping red welts into his pale skin.  Frantically, he yanked at the inexpensive sliding door causing a horrid metal scraping grind.  He gasped in the cool evening air reputing the pungent smell.  Somehow, its cold rush electrified his reasoning back to a functioning level.  Oh, how he could fool himself, quite the kidder he was.  There was never a real, Real Estate lady that he rented this shit- hole from  . . . silly.  A sly smile hurried to replace his scowl.  That would have left a nibby- nose witness and he was much too clever for that.  The flawless shape of his lips sucked in more arid oxygen encouraging him to recall how he came to be in this rat trap hideaway.

She had been a darling new bride shopping with her coupons in the country store bordering the desert.  He had overheard her chit chatting with the check- out girl, her lips pursed in a prissy kind of way.  Oh, how she had gone on about how she did not like being so far out in the desert with her new hubby.  The fat slug of a clerk babbled on how it must be so romantic just the two of them, alone.  Both giggled, the dear sweet bride even blushed, beet red for effect, he surmised.  She had probably been the town slut in High School with her naturally long blonde hair and big bazookas.  How lucky for him he had stopped at the mini-dump for tissues and overheard their mundane conversation.  His eyes scanned them with disdain, both led boring, trivial lives with no expectation of experiencing the arts or culture or to taste the ultimate in life- to be privileged.  Just two bimbos put on the earth to breed more inconsequential trailer trash.  But, their little tete a tete had been most inspiring to him.  There she was all wrapped up in tight Daisy May shorts and a skimpy halter top- his resource for a safe house.

A hushed muffle from the back of the trailer distracted his reminiscence but only momentarily.  He dismissed the present wanting to relive his triumph.  It had been easy following her down the paved two-lane road.  She had no idea this would be her last day on earth as if it mattered to the world if she no longer existed.  He had scrupulously sketched the plan in his methodical  mind to eradicate the newly weds.  He remembered worrying about where the husband would be but figured that would take care of itself.  Loose ends were easy to tie up when you were well bred.