“Pussy
on the chain wax.”
That’s
what she said. I heard it with my own two ears.
Then
she asked me to explain it to her so I did because I don’t believe in backing
down from a challenge, including when we were in the Rally’s drive-thru and she
screamed “Pussy on the chain wax” when
the cashier rudely answered ‘No’ when asked if they took EBT. She upped the
ante when she got out of the van and grinded against the concrete wall.
“Pussy
on the chain wax.”
Sometimes
the road dog bites you and sometimes you bite the road dog.
I’m
cloaked in the fog of his Easy Rider charisma
when he decrees his whacky, tuned in and entirely kindred-sermons on the
wretchedness and hilarity of surviving one more day on menthols, photographic
chemicals and the occasional roll in the imaginary hay.
He
kicks me into overdrive when he steps out of the movie-screen-womb and takes me
on a “Magic Carpet Ride.”
“Pussy
on the chain wax.”
Charles Cicirella
10/7/2015
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