The new new me

“They say necessity is the mother of invention, but I say the mother of necessity is an artifically imposed deadline.” – me, posting anonymously, of course — itching to write like a cray-cray city sprite after returning from VONA…

She wondered if her leg bones had melted from sitting, cross-legged the last three hours at the front of the ghetto Ralph’s on the corner of Crenshaw and Rodeo.  She wished for the smell of hot, wet asphalt, but all she got was some rotting fruit and bits of lettuce strewn about, tired confetti from a parade of old strawberry boxes.  Pulling the hemp cords of her hoodie a little tighter, Charisma bent her face down to smell her pits, the odor distracting her from her growling stomach and oddly comforting.  God only knows that she’d be lucky if some 8-hour office employee was going to toss her 100 grand in the form of a candy bar, or maybe order her a slice of pepperoni pizza with a soda.

It wasn’t Pretty Woman’s Rodeo Drive, but still a shiny hooker whose eyes slanted downward strutted in circles with a bow-legged stride and half-shaven shins, bending over frequently to adjust her blue-vinyl miniskirt and reposition her pack-away plastic titties deposited in faux fur leopard print.  Divinity could have been the love of her life, if only she didn’t wear too much makeup, always trying to please her customers.


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