Home Room. Location unknown. Somewhere in downtown Los Angeles near West Hollywood, Korea Town and Echo Park. My gay friend had ditched me for some gay event. So I found myself all dressed up, all made up and all alone. I decided that alone or not, I was going out. So I hopped into my red convertible, flipped the top down and cruised over to the venue. I knew it was the right spot by all the artsy-looking 20-somethings mingling outside the entrance on the street. I walked in. To the left was a table with a stamp and a sign: Stamp Yourself in. The first room was a Haunted art exhibit, the most notable of the pieces being a coffin with a dead bloody mannequin inside and some wooden posts from a fence, which made the backrest of the bench. The second room held a beautiful small female singer in a puddle in the middle of the stage, draped in a long dress, with a velvet shawl over her bird-like shoulders. The peacock feathers of her headdress jutted from her ears and chains dangled past her broken eyes. Surrounding her were two cellists and a drummer. The next singer creeped around the stage and into the audience like a spider with her long skinny black-tighted legs singing songs in a language no one understood, but everyone felt. I was in the back of the pressed together crowd. A tall man in black with greasy hair told me to push forward; it was my right. Like a motorcycle I darted through the couples and hipsters until I made my way to the front.
Afterward, Greasy-haired guy invited me to the Medusa Lounge next door. It looked like it used to be a church with its Gothic ceilings and stained glass windows. I had a frilly Indian suede feathered poncho on that I got from my ex-boyfriend's dead grandmother. As I danced the fringe shook and as I span, the fringe spread out around me like a protective halo. Some young guys were dancing in a circle and let me in. One of them had blonde curly clown hair with red suspenders. Another had a black bowling hat and black boots. They did some break dance moves and invited me back to their place for an after-party. It was a good sized house with a huge backyard and random sheds. We drank some beer, hit a bong and snorted some blow.
The Red Suspenders shared that he is an aspiring stunt cock man for porns. He was one of the last to hit the hay, leaving Bowling Hat and I alone. Stunt Cock kept texting me throughout the night from his room that I should go in and attack him and that Bowling Hat wouldn't mind. That was pretty awkward, since I thought he was a cool guy, but I wasn't into him like that. I offered Bowling Hat a ride home. Mostly I just wanted to get out of there cuz Stunt Cock was being a fucking weirdo. So we went back to Bowling Hat's house. He just moved in and had only halfway painted his room blue over the yellow. He had however assembled an old West Bar in the kitchen from which I ordered a milk in Das Boot. We went to his room and watched “Game of Thrones,” but for some reason it didn't make any sense at all, maybe I was too fucked up, maybe I was too tired when I saw the last episode. Still, we watched it until I could barely keep my eyes open and went to bed.
Bowling Hat had the hugest bed I have ever seen, California King he said. It was on the floor and had dark blue sheets I sank into. As I moved, I swam; the sheets and blankets, rippling around my body as I squirmed around. He was a stand-up guy maintaining a good distance between himself and I, only touching me once to stroke my head as we said our good nights.
I was woken up in the morning by a paraplegic chihuahua in a diaper scuttling around the bed. I was a bit freaked out initially, but Maybelline grew on me. Once I got used to the whole dead legs thing, she was actually pretty adorable and she scooted her little diapered butt after her rubber chicken so fast, she could give any dog a run for his money. She even had a little wheel-chair. I didn't get to see her put it on though.
Bowling Hat was hungry though, so we hopped on his motorcycle and sped through LA, past the homeless with their cardboard S.O.S. signs and Mexicans selling their wares, past graffiti installations on the entire side of large buildings. I could smell the Chinese food wafting from the stores with their chickens noosed in the windows. I felt the chilly overcast air prickling my skin. We drove to Wurstkuche in downtown for Mango Jalapeno and Rattlesnake-Rabbit Bratwurst sausage hotdogs. Bowling Hat ordered the Rattlesnake-Rabbit and let me try a bite. I couldn't say what it tasted like, it just tasted like seasoned meat. It was good. Better than chicken. The water alarmed me with its surprise Cucumber flavor. On the way back I clenched Bowling Hat between my fishnet thighs and held his jean-clad body close to mine as my suede tassels trailed behind us. Our bodies moved and rolled as one as we found the right balance between ourselves, the bike and the open road.
