cellini's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A Waffle House Rhapsody Tonight I borrowed a truck and drove a load of stuff over to the new house. I took a bath while I was there, just because I could. It is luxurious, so it is. Three levels of luxury. I am back at the old house and I drank some beer and I am a bit drunk now while I write this. Last night I got chatted by someone I know from NYC. A guy I hung out with for a few nights while I was staying with my sister and lusting after this guy's girlfriend. He and his girlfriend also came to stay locally a few months ago and I spent a few days with him and my sister and dude's girlfriend. He's a lawyer. I took him hunting for an afternoon one day. His girlfriend is named Emma and I want to fuck her in every hole 500 times. So dude chatted me on FB. And it became weirdly clear that dude is infatuated with me. He's a lawyer of some sort. He kept chatting me for 2 hours and he's in love with me or something, although he didn't say it. Apparently I changed his life when I took him hunting, which he doesn't seem to understand is par for the course. I do that shit professionally. Life-changing experiences are what I'm selling here; he just got the goods for free for being a friend of my sister's and having a girlfriend whom I intend to fuck. So I mentioned that I'm going back to the city in a few months to do this pigeon thing. And he has immediately jumped on participation and invited me to stay with him and Emma. Why, I don't mind if I do. Ok, this is terrible. But if he wants to suck my cock or something in exchange for me getting a few hours with Emma, that's ok by me. So many people have adopted this romanticism about me. A sort of phantasmagoria. I am their savage, killing my way through ecological enemies. I get such strange fan mail. _________________ A Waffle House blues. A walk from the hotel, down the street with no sidewalk along the median strip in the dark of night and then there I was in the parking lot with only two cars in it. And I went inside to the sound of a hissing grill. There she was behind the counter. A five foot two rhapsody in southern womanhood. Her honey-blond hair was pulled back into a messy bun. She took my order and I asked for the T-Bone dinner. I ate my steak and Texas toast and hashbrowns and salad. She was so pretty and shaped like a little dancing hourglass. I wanted to kiss her and lay her down beside me and fall asleep curled up around her fragile body. She brought the bill for $9 and I dropped a twenty and a five on the table and stood up and walked towards the door. "Oh my God - are you serious?" She squealed. "Yeah," I said. "Goodnight." And I pushed the door open and walked out of there and back along the median strip and past the twisted oaks with their Spanish moss and I went back to the hotel. And I pulled off my boots and I took off my clothes and I lay back on the big double bed and I was lonely and I thought about the woman with the honey-blond hair at the Waffle House. And I wanted her beside me or to have anyone at all beside me but I was alone again and on the road somewhere in Georgia to write another book and I began to cry but then I fell asleep soon enough. 3:13 a.m. - 2011-03-16 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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