LUCIFER
THE DEBAUCHERY DIARIES
CHAPTER 3: Always a bridesmaid never the bride. EXCERPT
How, I mean do I really, I can't, I mean I have nowhere to truly start. I am not quiet sure where one thing ends and another begins. " Maybe I am dying"; "yes sir", I said dying. It must be the overshadow of death, creeping, ohh ever so snail like creeping, crawling, nibbling at my heart, my soul, my spirit. A slow death one could not ever wish on another person, killing me softly, not even coming close to the agony and misery that I am forced to endure. The toils of suffering mounting, bearing down upon me as if I was Hercules and I was holding the world for the woman I love, my soul mate, and she came up and kicked me in the nuts as hard as she could over and over and over again, allowing the world; as this near criminal thought washes over me, "OK not some fucking model thing either, keep up, I am talking the REAL whole World, and that fucking thing is HEAVY you know… It seems as if your fucking laughing this is not a laughing matter, IT IS FUCKING HEAVY AND IT HURTS, so quit rubbing my God dam nose in it!" chuckling aloud as I write it. Now that is out of my system let me see if I can articulate these days into pictures of what has brought me to that, hopefully noticing I would be a groom, ha ha ha hou.
"God Damn-it!" I actually yell as I leave the convenience store, with cigarettes in hand and the change I needed for boarding the bus I just missed and I needed to catch to get to work on time. "Shit God damn mother fucker", as I uncontrollably start to spew profanities from my once clean mouth of the day, already shaming it with a list of words and combinations of them spewing from the pie hole like a geyser meeting its attraction, just exploding up, hot, and everywhere. It will be 45 minutes before the next one arrives, and I realize that the one going in the opposite direction will be there before the other and has different junction point but still along my route to the jobsite. So as a changing tides and changing headings like that of a Air Force fighter, I sunder one foot in front of the other to my new destination, taking both breath and drag making my way.
Trying to recover from my brief but dynamite packed prior moments, taking in a deep breath, thus the elongated and depressing sounding sigh, I start open the L&M pack of cigarettes, and the funniest thing about this value brand of smokes, is within the logo of the brand. I can clearly see, if you look at them the right way, they actually say, well I suppose they 'don’t say', as I am sure you are aware, because packs of cigarettes do not speak, but read Lucifer M. Knowing this or at least believing almost faithful to this belief and evidence to me, that its most likely the case, it somehow lifts me a little. Cigarette lit, and hanging from my lips, I'm on my way again, stuffing my things had, and not had, newly purchased into my pockets, progressing towards my new waiting point of the morning. Sun just climbing over the peaks and ridges of the Wasatch mountains, about to shine my light upon the promised land. "What is that? Why is it my light?" you might ask. "Well let me tell you what, don't worry about it. Did I tell you?" "Well I guess I must not have wanted you to know", is all I can think to myself, hearing the growing decibels of the noise, the whispers, the voices carried on the morning breeze.
The air crisp, near sharp, but rounding and smoothing little by little as the sun slowly making its ascension one pebble, stone, and bush at a time lending hope that the day may change its wicked ways in light of and possible fear of my wrath and anger, giving me another little bounce in my step, now finding my area of pause in my current traveling, or should it be commuting endeavor. Todays travels and wrestling with father time so far getting the better of me, so I think "musika", putting on my head phones, with every intent to wash it all away through the magic and undeniable power of song to raise you from the dead at times. "What", "what was that" I ask out loud, speaking back to the mix of voices I can hear. I think its her, I don't hear her very much anymore, and I am not quite sure it really is her, she being the voice of Dade County NY. Trying to not really speak with any of them anymore, as the only thing they seem to do is lead me on, with promises of the , craziest sex I've ever had with multiple girls at a time. They teaching me almost grooming me for such an adventure, but like a piece of cheese tied to a string and yanked out of the mouth of the mouse, its not likely the time they would have with me, if they were to actually venture out to what & where they promise.
NEVER, and I mean they have never arrived, or shown as it were. I think I have mentioned that they are dancers and entertainers, right? with only the woman I know as Heather having a job outside that of the "shake your money maker" field, at least to my knowledge. Let's get something straight right now, these are the things that I know or have been made to know or believe as such. Any contradiction to contrary of these understandings and my informing you the reader as being truth, has been diligently worked and messaged, rubbing out all my possible doubts. Heather working in the Dental industry, at least that is what I am made to understand, and well, fuck me like the dirty whore I am, or made to be by the same Hot as a firecracker [ REDACTED ] there is one other, I can think of, not into dancing, but given her due anyhow. She has and owns a boutique, if I haven't introduced her yet, it is the near infamous Jill Farr. In my business first and purchase from within the circle mind set, requesting purchasing information from her, but as of the date this was written, nothing received. I do not believe it is her voice, and as far as I know, had not really heard from her much in the past 6 months, but now included in the list of woman that based on employment status only, not having Daddy issues, all be it she probably has them too.
Daddy issues in my expert smart ass opinion, is what can many times make a woman a pain in the ass, when you are a good guy, even with a little bit of bad boy persona, these girls can sniff, stiff, and exclude a guy just for being nice, and pretty much only play with complete assholes. Actually knowing that they are running a game, whole heartedly knowing it, but attracted to this type a person none the less. Smelling of sweaty armpits, cigarette smoke, and possibly other, then they're desire to be cheated on, abused and used like living blowup dolls offering only money and protection from the possible stocker, or rapist, while displaying the very behavior they are to protect them from. That girl [ REDACTED ], acting a fool, and also displaying similar behaviors, such as the stocking, oppressing, and forceful behavior, taking charge and ownership of me and 'MY A MEAT', after my waiting and waning for 2+ years and leaving me Farr behind. I am quite sure it is her, I hear but quickly being drowned out or repeated, and spoke over, so your unable to decipher what is actually said. So I quickly and with heartfelt sincerity ask, how she was and as with every time if the Mother Fuckin Devil was messing with her? To which the reply was almost always no, not really too much, and then she was on to wanting to know about my current job. I explain to her, "That it was temporary, but was trying to make it permanent, I love the guy I am working for.”
“Oh so you’re in looove with the guy you work for,” she says with that touch of sarcastic conceit, and ruining that by quickly following up with this snide, condescending question, “then must be making really good money, who are you working for?”
I mentioned she’s a sexy bitch right? However, never in my life up until this walking do it to me good, treat my like a dirty hoe and I’m yours forever girl, have I ever made myself so out of wack, out of sync. a girl punishing me, without the payoff. Yep that’s right, no happy ending, at least no yet. Always promised, but not delivered, I just don’t get this chick. Making my way onto my bus, and making it look like I’m on the phone explaining that we were in the final stages of the remodel of the Century 16 Theaters, and how I was working the owner of Stacey Enterprises. I start telling her, “it would be one of the first permanent hires he had made in years.”
“I try letting him know or repeat that I could help him run things on a couple of sites.”
“What was the name of the girl again?” Her query seeming now without bubble, almost business, not interest.
“It’s not a girls name, well I guess it is, it’s his daughters name, but the name of the company is Stacey Enterprises”
“So you work for his daughter, then you don’t make any money?” With a fake ass little ha ha riddles in almost disappointment, a touch of anger or irritation, “so how much do you make?”
A little put off, by the question and the attitude, I tell her it depends on my hours, and overtime, and “I’m sure it would be much higher if he hires me permanent.”
“ How much do you make?” Full of contempt, and lack of patience in my , what must have been construed as avoiding the question. Chuckling to myself getting off Trax and starting to huff it up 33rd South, thinking to myself, “ Huh… well I guess that’s a stripper, all about the money.” Piping up to her, “So what did you think of that dress I dropped off for you?”
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