This one time I was rambling around as usual. And I hooked up with this guy I met while I was working at the Burlesque show in New Orleans. He flew me out to California to see him. Ya know, to be his little lady for a while. He was this sexy, older biker guy. I was 19 at the time. He was 40ish. When I met him, I liked the way he smelled. It was this mix of a mechanic, like oils & such, cigarettes, sweat and a little bit of musk. It was an amazing turn on. He was 40, but he looked about 25-26. He worked at this foundry in the East Bay somewhere. I liked that he worked with his hands all day. I looked at his hands. All the calluses. The hard work. When he touched me it felt a little rough, but it made me get goosebumps. It excited me to think of him working all day, then touching me with working man’s hands. He reminded me of John Doe from X. Maybe that was what did it. I don’t know. I think every girl deep down like’s that “working man”. The Bruce Springsteen image. The bad boys. The classic real man. Some testosterone. Some balls. Some sweat. Not that metrosexual bullshit.
This evening I walked to the local general store. I live 1.5 miles away from it to be exact. The reason I walked is because I just got my car reposessed. Anyway, so I need beer and smokes
and a little snack. So I decided I could use a little walk. I like walking. Even if it’s on the side
of a country highway. And even if some of the assholes that pass me on the road beep at me
or yell obscenities or call me a whore. Whatever. The same thing would happen if I was walking
down some street in LA or where-ever. People are just idiots. Actually, my walk to the store
was surprisingly relaxing. The sun was about to set. The air was envigorating me. My spirit
needed a brisk walk.