Lust Demented

{XLV}

A BEATEN BODY IN PAIN. Almost past Grand. Didn’t remember getting back on my feet. I felt my teeth sharpen. Eyes zoom microscopic. A straight shot in the dark through Seward Park. No sign of the heat on my back. Maybe my favorite cops were finally out of commission. Down for the count.

“Special olympics ain’t ’til next month.” Mayor’s orders, a patrolman let loose an innocent fart. No chance I would hang around to grab a whiff. Still it followed me through the trees and sprayshowers, marking his spot with his scent.

A block or so to go. Jefferson Street. A crafty skel in the shadows takes an interest my cuffs. His lip was swollen retarded. His shirt was stretched down exposing a shoulder.

“You didn’t see anything.” The mural glowed beside us.

“… give a shit…” He had cuffs of his own.

Turn the corner. Madison Street. The numbers are going down. Less than a block to go. Paralysis enacts its ploy for mental siege. Recognizable voices begin to harmonize nefariously. Distinct pin-dots of light grow together to form a forgotten smudge on the city’s canvas. Illuminated, the somber streets between the bridges seemed to grow fuzzy.

Kids on the stoop, parents off finding new adventures. 219 Madison Street. Missy’s breathing above it all. The towers exploding from across the river. The jet engine shaking the island bungalows. The jungle lioness waking up to find a metropolis planted on top of her tail.

I’m staring at a red door.

“Our first date, huh…” Missy whispered through the coming attractions at the Ziegfield.

“Missy, I didn’t think you’d show up.”

“Farrow. I’m sorry. Don’t put that in your book.” Missy smiled teasing me.

“What?”

“That I’m always late.”

“Oh you remembered that I write. Don’t worry beauty is always worth waiting for.”

“I respect that about you.” It was the only time she said that. I wasn’t sure if she was talking about the writing or the waiting.