Maybelle said, “Spaniard, you should start selling wigs door to door, I know ladies that love fake hair. You could come to my domino and bid whist hall, the ladies would eat your white ass with a fucking spoon. What do you say?”
Spaniard said, “There ain’t no pain with John Coltrane, baby. I’m no maniac milquetoast eating mulligatawny soup. I like to make love and shred time with- out injuring eternity and listen to the wind.”
They lined up, panthers pacing in stiletto heels in pools of tears, drinking cocaine in the kaleidoscope rain. Licking salty limes and drinking mezcal straight from the bottle.
When Spaniard left three days later, the queen of cool was on his hook. He had a pocket full of C-notes. He’d shaved lots of peaches and licked more than he cared to comment on.
His geisha cowgirl was using a blowtorch on his triple beam, she had no love or pity in her heart.
Catfish McDaris has been active in the small press world for 25 years. His biggest seller is Prying: with Jack Micheline and Charles Bukowski. He’s working in a wig shop in a high crime area of Milwaukee. His newest book is:
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