N
nacho!!!!!!!!
Guest
I look dully at the street lamps as they pass. The rain smudges the the veiw from the widow as I look out to the foggy streets as all the busy people run to get where they are going. The whole world is this way it seems. We also go, never just sit and watch. Since I have been in New Orleans, it seems watching is the only thing I do. I see men hustling to their offices and workplaces holding there hats firmly on their head from the wind. They pass you without a smile or a hello, the only contact you have with the men here is when they knock you down running to where they need to go. Well, the whores have a lot of contact. All the life is being drained from this festive city. I see my home slowly being drained from life and color, like an old painting. Society’s so called rules slowly make their way in. It’s like cookin’ a frog. It’s demise slips away so slowly, it doesn’t notice it’s own death. I look at the women, slowly walking down the streets, showing off their clothes. I look down at my self. I look like a worn down maid, wearing rags. I imagine myself walking down the streets, my head high, while my husband escorts me into all the high-end places. People getting sick with envy. My name in the fashion magazines, my smile dominating the world of fashion. I imagine my self where I don’t make myself vomit, so I’ll even look good enough to become a measly whore. Most of the men, even the drunks, look at me with a scowl. It reminds me of a time in the second world war. I think you all know what I mean. I imagine a peaceful world. And no, I ain’t no pot smoking girl, lookin’ for peace. That’s my last priority. Actually, it isn’t one at all. I would kill to be one of those model girls with visible cheek bones, and a good complexion. But those are only dreams. I can dream all I want, but I will still be an peasant, compared to the women I see. I try to avoid dreaming, because you can dream all you want, but you will be wasting you’re life away, and when you look at Jesus, you won’t be proud of how you’ve spent your life. Ha, look at me, talkin about heaven, when I dream of being a whore. Well at least that would be a step up. Let me tell you how I spend my “time”. I wake up on the streets, usually by thrown rocks from school kids. I throw some back, and throw some swears too. I get up and slouch as I walk down the busy streets. I walk to some shops, ask for a job, they always turn me away. I walk into the clubs, well try to. I try to meet a man. Everyday that is my priority. Maybe a rich man. I can go from wakin up in the dungeons, to waking up in the penthouse. I imagine looking out my window, and seeing the glowing neon lights, jazz bands singing in the cities, and all the whore in the hell holes they deserve to be in. People looking in awe as I strut down the streets, my husbands mouth in a white toothy grin. He looks at me and we laugh as the jazz music trails in scene. He kisses me slowly. Then I stroke his cheek. He grabs my neck and makes a moaning noise. Then the music stops, and the scene changes back to his room. He throws me on the bed, tears off my skirt, and unbuckles his belt, laughs cruely as I scream. “Stay down kid!”, he says as beads of sweat go down his unfit body. I scream again, lower then before, and adjust myself. Then I wake up screaming, look around and say, “Only a dream, just the past.”