The Figs of May - Carpe Testicularum

The Figs of May - Carpe Testicularum

Chapter 9

     The Story The Authors
Corley looked down and read again the letter that the nameless girl had thrust upon him. It didn't make any more sense the second time he read it. He looked up at her with a puzzled expression, hoping that this might induce an explanation out of her. She just looked back at him with the faintest whiff of a smile and waited for him to speak. He knew her from someplace. She obviously knew him to. She certainly wasn't unattractive in third runner up Drew Barrymore lunatic kind of way. A friend of Helen Bach's? An ex coworker from the overnights at Kinko's he worked in Puxatawny back in his drinking days. The Pig & Whistle Thursday Dungeon nights? He certainly had met enough women he couldn't quite place now from back then. (And boffed numerous of them in the alley behind the club in an indefinable liquor slicked crank fueled haze of sweaty orifices and post-coital introductions)
The back of his brain went into overdrive. "Ivan Mufti. Ivan Mufti. Mrs. Ivan Mufti. A faux Mrs. Ivan Mufti. Think. Think. It's got to make sense somewhere down the line. He dicided to bluff his way through and ditch her ASAP.
"So...umm...how is old Ivan these days anyway?"
"
Lanark
"Oh, well, you know, same ol' Ivan." She said, flicking her hand in the air as if to brush Ivan out of the conversation. Corley just nodded as if he knew what she was talking about. "I didn't come all this way to talk about him. I came here to see you."
"Oh, really?" He smiled, looking around him for a means of escape.
"Yes, and I must say I'm a bit surprised that you aren't more pleased to see me." She took his hand.
Corley frantically searched the recesses of his brain for a name to go with the woman's face. Helen? Anita? Freda? Mitzy? Gabrielle? Ilene? Irene? Try as he might, he could not come up with a name for this woman.
"Well of course I'm pleased to see you, baby." he said patting her hand. "but it's been so long. Where have you been hiding yourself these days?"
"It hasn't been that long." she said with a puzzled look in her eyes. "You know where I've been. I haven't been that out of touch."
"Oh, yes, of course, heh heh." He broke out in a cold sweat. What he wouldn't give for a big vicious dog to come up and bite him right now.
cuddles
"So why haven't you called?" She asked. It was as if she knew that he had no clue who she was. Did this guy not even own a TV? Her face had been plastered all over the news for the last three days. vanblah
"Well, I've been...uh, kinda,...like busy lately. You know, work and shit like that."
Well, no doubt, knowing him he was plastered himself in an entirely different way. But there just wasn't time for cutesy reintroductions at this moment. the clock was ticking. She grabbed his arm in a rather iron grip and tugged him protesting all the way down the block and shoved him into a cab.
Ignoring his protestations, she checked her watch.
"Driver, there's an extra ten in it for you if you get us to Penn Station in fifteen munutes or less." With a chiropractic thrust of the swarthy arab behind the wheel hit the gas.
Lanark
They burst into the line of moving traffic so suddenly that even ordinary rules of grammer and coherent sentence structure were thrown into confusion.
Time seemed temporarily suspended and the buildings and sidewalks of the city seemed to blur into one long endlessly moving postneoexpressionistic blend of color with a pervasive odor of hot dogs. The up to now nameless woman instinctively reached her hand across Lardass's chest to protective him as the taxi blasted its way into a spray of color. Gasping for a breath whilst the numerous powers of G-force tore at her face and her cheeks puffed chipmunkwise with powerful acorns of air pressure she scrabbled for the inhaler in her purse.
Up front, narily a hair was stirred by this burst of hyperspeed on Aben ben Laben, chief cook and bottle washer for the Tardis Taxi Company. He carelessly ruminated on an already days old piece of banana Bubble Yum without any visible sign of chewing satisfaction. Between the odd pulsating bits of static on the AM radio came snippets of the Qu'uran and the long bailful wail of the muzzelah call.
Lanark


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