The Man on Wichita lane

I'm sittin' here on Wichita lane. Ain't no reason for it. Just sittin'. Head bobbin', music blarin', feet kickin' that empty beer can from four minutes ago. This curb ain't the comfiest place ta be restin', but you'd better catch me dead than see me sittin' my arse on that there dead grass. Those little boogers don't look like much, but they'll stick ya in the behind before you even rest your other cheek. I don't know 'bout anyone else, but I ain't lookin' ta get some rash any time soon. On my left cheek, no less. Concrete it is.

Ain't no one around but me and this dead squirrel. Jimmy's his name. He don't look to be in the best of conditions right now, what with that hole in his side an' all. And it ain't no small hole, either. 'Bout the size of a small sand dollar, best I can describe it. Looks like some imbecile done speared him with one a' them wood sticks you use on bloodsuckers. He's got this brown goop seepin' out a' him. Poor little fella. Don't no one deserve a hole in their side. No one. Just ain't right. Nothing to be done about it now. Best to ignore it, if we're goin' off my prerogative. What else ya gonna do? Nothin', that's what.

You got these houses all around. Real shabby lookin'. Ya know, the kind with them concrete blocks holdin' the fort up and the roofs with all them tiles fallin' off and the paint 'bout done gone. Not the most appealin', if you ask me. I'll stick with my good ol' tin roof and red shutters, thank you very much. Never quite understood the lure of them plastic things--blinds, ain't that what they called? Much more efficient to make use of shutters. But then again, who's gonna take my direction?

Not much else around besides them houses and Jimmy over here. But we're ignorin' that creature. Good for the mind, I like to say. There's some dead grass here and a couple a' wilted flowers over there. Daisies and such. Look like they ain't had a drop a' shade in decades. It's a wonder they're still piped up straight. Goes with the area. Everything's fallin' apart like a kid came crashin' through here with a wrecking ball. And then that same kid came by with one of them elementary glue things--you know what I'm on about--and tried to put all the pieces back together with their grimmy little grabbers. Wouldn't surprise me if there was boogers all over the place. No sir, not one bit.

'Specially on that door over there. Not that there's anything particularly substantial 'bout it. It's just like all the rest--hinges rusted and paint peelin'. The wood's a little splintered too. Strangely enough, I like it. All the batter an' tatter. Feels... homey. If you could call a place like this home.

The wind must be pickin' up. I don't feel it much on my side, but that don't go to say much, seein' as I ain't got a full head a' hair for it to blow through, if you catch my drift... or not. Huh. I oughtta start implementin' puns more often. The wind must be doin' a number on that house 'cross the street. That rusty door's startin' ta creek open, albeit slowly. And behind that door seems ta be... a lady? Well well, what a surprise. Looks like it wasn't the wind after all. Shoulda figured. Graceful as cat, she steps out from behind that splintered mess of a door. What a sight, all that beauty next to all them boogers an' grime. Juxtaposition at it's finest. She's just standing there, lookin'. Not that I mind. Tit for tat, I like ta say. Might as well look back. She's got these red stilettos on--really compliments her complextion. Long olive legs accented by a skin-tight LBD--a little black dress. And my God, does that dress show off her figure. A true voluptuous hourglass if there ever was one. Next are those blonde beachy waves flowin' down her shoulders--the kind you see in them prissy magazines with all a' the country's "greatest gossip." Painfully drag your eyes up a little farther and you'll see her finely sculpted collarbone and neck. Move up a couple more inches and we've come to grand finale. Buckle up, boys (and girls, I 'spose). We're lookin' at a beaut. I ain't ever seen something quite like her. Perfect bone structure, with lips plump an' ready for pickin'. And she's got these eyes, fellas. Ice-tipped daggers stabbin right through me. Right where Jimmy was done suckered, as a matter o' fact. Can't see what color they are, but I know they're deadly. Reminds me of one a' them succubus things that feed off of se--you get the picture. Ain't nothin' I can do but sit here and look dumb as she turns those red lips of hers into a smirk. Wouldn't surprise me if there was drool making its merry way down my chin by now.

She's gliding across the rubble and gravel right in my direction. It's a wonder she doesn't trip. Ain't nothin' unsure about the way she steps in those heels. It's as if she's walked this ground thousands of times before. She hasn't broken eye contact once. Not too certain how I feel 'bout that. It's all I can do not ta jump up on my crusty boots as she saunters up and stops a few feet in front a' me. I've got my neck craned back in some ungodly position just ta' maintain a respectable view of her. I can barely sees her eyes past that Goddamn glare from the sun, but I'm able to make out enough. Those daggers are brown, alright. But not that mucky old brown ya encounter when muddin'. These eyes have got...dimension. Don't know how else to describe 'em for ya.

I must be lookin' at 'em too much, cause she clears her throat and eyes my cooler I got my radio propped up on. I ain't even able ta chirp up and ask her name before she sets my radio on the damned prickly grass and grabs a cold one from my cooler. Hot like a rocket she scoops up a sharp rock from the ground and shotguns that beer faster than any man I ever seen. Not once did those brown eyes leave mine. With all the grace in the world she drops that molested can to the ground and stabs it with them stiletto heels. Boy I tell you. I ain't never been so riled up in all my existence. Done rendered me speechless. She musta known it too, 'cause she teased those cherry-plum lips a' hers into an award-winning smile.

And then with a voice as smooth as honey she purred, "Mind if I sit?"