The State of Things
The year was 2007. It was the season of the cusp; the new year encroached, the calendar would soon flip into 2008. But there was still enough time for two friends to settle into a pub's dark corner, guzzle beer and talk life.
One was called the Gentleman Architect. The other was known simply as the Uncle.
They were reminiscing on their lives, and the Uncle looked melancholy as he grasped his cold pint.
"Listen," said the Uncle. "You know what I miss? I miss fingering Tatiana out on the bow of the Getty Museum. The warm California sun -- intoxicating. Los Angeles was a pile of crushed clamshells at our feet."
The Gentleman smiled but said nothing.
"My dick nuzzling her back.. it was stiff like a cactus, man. They should have put that in the museum. It was an exhibit, a monument to horniness. It was art, pure art. What was most genius was the mirroring of my erect prow with that of the museum's -- that jutting white terrace, I'll never forget it."
He sighed, and continued: "Later that night, on the 101 freeway, she gave me head as we sped eastward into the night. I remember trying to stay in my lane, doing 80 miles an hour, and what a damn distraction it was to have her head in my lap."
Again, the Gentleman was silent, charged with potent wisdom. He sat back and gulped his ale.
"And then there was that time in Tibet where I shagged a raven-haired beauty on the balcony of our hotel in the rain. It was summer; the town was silent. I just sat her soft ass up on that railing, and I railed her, by god. I'll always remember the scent of the dust, and her rain-moistened skin at twilight."
"I'm proud of you," said the Gentleman. "You're already a dirty old man."
"You think I'm self-indulgent now," replied the Uncle. "You'll recall there was a time in which I thought it would be good to kill someone before I die. Just for the intellectual experience, of course."
The Gentleman laughed; it was not shocking that his friend was this way.
"Look," said the Uncle. "I like mischief. I want to create something that will be misinterpreted for generations. So that after I pass on, I may look down -- or up, as it were -- and laugh with secret knowledge."
The Gentleman nodded.
"A year ago," said the Gentleman to the Uncle, "you told me that your resolution for 2007 was to suffer. A year before that it was to be rich and soulful. What's your resolution this year?"
"It's simple," said the Uncle. "My resolution is to be dead."
One was called the Gentleman Architect. The other was known simply as the Uncle.
They were reminiscing on their lives, and the Uncle looked melancholy as he grasped his cold pint.
"Listen," said the Uncle. "You know what I miss? I miss fingering Tatiana out on the bow of the Getty Museum. The warm California sun -- intoxicating. Los Angeles was a pile of crushed clamshells at our feet."
The Gentleman smiled but said nothing.
"My dick nuzzling her back.. it was stiff like a cactus, man. They should have put that in the museum. It was an exhibit, a monument to horniness. It was art, pure art. What was most genius was the mirroring of my erect prow with that of the museum's -- that jutting white terrace, I'll never forget it."
He sighed, and continued: "Later that night, on the 101 freeway, she gave me head as we sped eastward into the night. I remember trying to stay in my lane, doing 80 miles an hour, and what a damn distraction it was to have her head in my lap."
Again, the Gentleman was silent, charged with potent wisdom. He sat back and gulped his ale.
"And then there was that time in Tibet where I shagged a raven-haired beauty on the balcony of our hotel in the rain. It was summer; the town was silent. I just sat her soft ass up on that railing, and I railed her, by god. I'll always remember the scent of the dust, and her rain-moistened skin at twilight."
"I'm proud of you," said the Gentleman. "You're already a dirty old man."
"You think I'm self-indulgent now," replied the Uncle. "You'll recall there was a time in which I thought it would be good to kill someone before I die. Just for the intellectual experience, of course."
The Gentleman laughed; it was not shocking that his friend was this way.
"Look," said the Uncle. "I like mischief. I want to create something that will be misinterpreted for generations. So that after I pass on, I may look down -- or up, as it were -- and laugh with secret knowledge."
The Gentleman nodded.
"A year ago," said the Gentleman to the Uncle, "you told me that your resolution for 2007 was to suffer. A year before that it was to be rich and soulful. What's your resolution this year?"
"It's simple," said the Uncle. "My resolution is to be dead."
posted by Jeweled Accumulation at 12:53 PM
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