Treatment for first novel: "Dreaming of Revelry"

 DREAMING OF REVELRY

               (working title) 

                           BY

   

           S.E. JEAN - CHARLES

   

                                                                     

            DREAMING OF REVELRY 
                                 BY
             S.E. JEAN - CHARLES

'DREAMING OF REVELRY' by S.E.Jean-Charles is a work of semi-fiction involving two childhood friends, a guy & girl, who've lived the entirety of their millennial lives in New York City. Despite leading very eventful lives, the two are just beginning to face the realization that they are approaching the end of their twenty's, embarking on their 30s, yet their arrival lacks any traditional signs of maturity or stability. 

       Aidan works as a buyer and corrdinator for an event planning firm in lower Manhattan; and Adeline is a waitress at a popular downtown restaurant. Both, admittingly, are milking the remainder of their 20s for all its menial worth---prancing aimlessly through life with expensive, unused college degrees and a mountain of expensive, unpaid debt.

       Aidan is gay and ever since he turned 18 and came out, he has been estranged from the entirety of his  family who disapprove of his lifestyle. Adeline, an only child, was at 2 years old abandoned by a drug addicted mother and left to be raised by a neglectful father whose penchant for all forms of a gamble far exceeded his penchant for fatherhood. Both have been each other's support system and for Aidan, Adeline was the first person he came out to. She, for all intent and purposes, is his one and only friend---besides the occasional weekend tryst that enter and exit his revolving door of a bedroom. 

      One paticularly drunken weekend, spent couped up at their favorite downtown bar is interrupted by an unusual request from Adeline that is sure to change their lives forever.

   Adeline, nervously, ask Aidan if he would consider platonically impregnanting her as a gift so she could fulfill her dreams of being a mother and provide the unconditional care and love she herself never received from her own absentee mom. She reassures Aidan that he will, in no way/shape  or form, be obligated to be in the kids life as anything more than mommy's friend Aidan ---- it will simply be a gift of life from one friend to another. 

     Trying hard to find a genuine reason why a sperm donation to his most dearest friend would be a problem , Aidan agrees---somewhat reluctantly.

       The date, July 4th weekend in the Catskills mountains, is chosen. When that day arrives, a case of wine and a few joints are polished off, the two proceed with comical attempts at arousal and orgasm yielding activity until the deal is ultimately done. 

   Fast forward, a 3/4ths of a year and Shayla, their daughter, arrives at Lenox Hill Hospital on the upper east side weighing in at 8lbs and 4oz.

        While initially motherhood is embraced by Adeline and her life begins to appear as if it now contains purpose and meaning, she is quite quickly made aware that motherhood is: one, not a decision that should be made under a plethora of emotions, cocktails and unaddressed abandonment issues stemming from an absentee mother and neglectful father; two, being a single parent is a task that one, if they were aware of the impending struggle, would never volunteer for willingly; and three, motherhood is less social media shareable moments and more struggle, angusih, pain and tediousness. 

   As time progresses and the sleepless nights , lack of support and harsh reality of having to raise, feed and care for an actual other humanbeing, all the time, becomes fearfully evident, Adeline, tearfully leaves Shayla with Aidan one afternoon under the guise of needing a few hours of 'me time'.       

          However, instead of returning a few hours later, she makes the  painstakingly harsh decision to skip town, leaving both Shayla & Aidan to fend for themselves with nothing but a note found tucked deep inside the diaper bag apolgizing profusely , but confessing "I can't anymore, I just can't."

          Aidan, almost certain this is a joke waits as Adelines estimated arrival back time comes and goes. Calls go straight to voicemail indicating a phone turned off. Completely blindsided, scared and unprepared for being a parent, initially dances with the idea of giving shayla up all together, but decides against it when during one of Shaylas paticularly epic crying session, he comes to realization  that while they both may be crying, they, at the very least, were together and not alone. And after she was his biological child and therefore ultimately his responsibility
           Days, weeks and months go by with not even a call, letter or text from Adeline. Eventually Aidan begins to find great purpose in raising his biological daughter. The bond between the two get incredibly close. And, much to Aidan's surprise and an unpredicted outcome of being a newly single parent , Aidan reestablishes the once seemingly unrepairable relationship with his parents, who start out by helping him little by little tend to Shayla financially. 

      As time tends to do, it carries on. Months turn into years, milestones such as shaylas first words , steps and smiles happen and are happily celebrated.

             While incredibly difficult, raising Shayla proves to be awesomely rewarding for Aidan, who has now begun turning his life around due to no longer exhibiting carelessness due to being without responsibilities. All appears to be progressing well until , out of the very blue one August morning appears Adeline.
              Adeline reappears, looking like an entirely new person. Surprisingly, however, her looks arent the only major  change in her life. Adeline is now a married, born again Christian who, as she tells Aidan that evening over coffee, had suffered a mental breakdown brought on post partumly by the stress of taking care of a  newborn and her mountains of unaddressed bpersonal issues. She admits to fleeing to Florida on a one way Amtrak to reside with an aunt like figure from her dad's side who had been the one and only consistent and stable person in her whole life. Upon getting settled , the two began attending church and soon after arriving, she was committed to a psych hospital to help hash through her unresolved issues.

           Her presence, however , is suspicious and Aidan inquires what is it she intends to do now that she's back in town. Adeline , with her newly acquired religious rehtoric , informs Aidan that she is now equipped and prepared to be the mother Shayla needs. Aidan, offended and dumbfounded by her cluelessness half heartedly shares his appreciation for her request , but tells her that he's got this.
             Adeline, reading the subtext of Aidan's statement, realizes that Aidan not only has no intentions of allowing her to get Shayla back, but will not so much as allow them to see one another. Tensions begin to run high and Adeline spews some horrendously hurtful comments about the dangers of gays raising children and how her church in Florida is certified in the practice of praying the gay away. Aidan, shocked and appalled by this unrecognizable person in front of him, exits the coffee shop only after telling Adeline that---as long as he is alive and breathing--- she will never, ever see Shayla again.
            Aidan exits , leaving a distraught Adeline sobbing and screaming obscenities. A few weeks later, when arriving to drop Shayla off at his parents house , Aidan is served legal papers informing him that Adeline is taking him to court, seeking full custody of Shayla
             What follows is a heartwrenching legal & emotional battle between two childhood friends whose pain and shortcomings brought them together in the beginning and in the midst of their search for meaning & stability, they created someone that ultimately may tear them apart. 

The American Man

                                              The American Man


Decisions of a lifetime made by men in the wild

Questions of preferences between spicy and mild

Choosing that woman to be the container for your child

Knowing nine months later, the house will go from quiet to loud



Incidents called incidents but genuine intentions were there

 Penis doesn’t just fall into vagina, it always starts with a seductive stare

Time spent away from home to reduce the new Sesame Street sound blare

Intimate nights with others; to your lover: its unfair

　

Confess every Sunday at Cathedral, but to your lover you never do

Morbid contemplations of mutual cheating so “we can both be at fault too”

Late night microwave meals never reheated, not even your favorite beef stew

Liquid diet of scotch to stay sane, your teeth never chews



Telephone locked with code to avoid a potential scold

 Seeking sympathy by saying pneumonia but really it’s the common cold

 All bets are in, are you all in or do you fold?

 The American man simply does everything he is told

Finally Home

                                  FINALLY HOME

Taxi driver, be my savior for the hour

Travel me around this concrete forest

Relieve me from stares and judgment from locals and tourist

Appropriately, for being slumped over a NO LOITERING stoop on Bleecker

Regretting ingesting poison to commemorate never again seeing her

Earlier,

The walk from Prince Street to Bleeker was spent entirely redialing unanswered calls and stressing over un-replied text

Stomach churning anticipation ushers into speed walking cause her buildings was next

Arrival, or more like the fight for survival, sweat begins collecting in my socks

Slight index finger pressure on apartment 4A on pre-entry apartment voice-box

Transmitting voiceover stating:

“please leave, we‘re over”

Instantaneously Bleecker becomes bleaker

Coincidently,

As the evening progressed the Whisky began to taste weaker.

Still slumped and without help, I nominate a passerby as my designated taxi hailer

“obtain one in my honor sir; for safe keeping at this point is a requirement for me”

I’VE DRUNKEN MYSELF IN A STUPOR AT THIS EVENINGS LOSS OF she

Stares and murmurs follow but seriously taken I was not

Just another inebriated announcer on this particular Manhattan block

Greatest city in the world and passerby’s give you the dial tone

All I needed was a cab ride to Great Jones to finally get home

OLD UNFINISHED SHORT: The Chasing of Echoes

The Chasing of Echoes

DISCLAIMER: Written at a very young age, edited five years later. Enjoy.

                                                
The Glenville cafe in the western section of Greenwich, Connecticut sat on a rather steep slope overlooking Riversville Road. The Glen, as many locals called it, was a nostalgic nod to the 70's and had remained an institution for the residence of Glenville County. Modeled after the owner’s former home in Paris, the original color of chestnut that at once was charming had now faded––just like many other things at the Glen. The bright and perky neon sign, that had been changed from The Glenville to The Glen and back to The Glenville, could at once be seen flashing from miles away; but now it hung unlit and slanted in a very unappealing way.

Chefs at the Glen changed numerous times since it had opened, and now Leonardo, the current chef, was attempting to revive an already deceased place. In fact, the only thing that remained the same at the Glen from the time of it's opening was the sign that everyone associated with the has-been Café––“A homage to true American spirit.”

It was hard getting that sentence out of your head when you finally left the place; it was just about everywhere you looked. Before you were to grab the door handle to walk in, it was plastered on the glass in front of you. When you received your menu, that sentence was stapled on the cover underneath an amateur drawing of the American flag. And at the end of your meal, when you were to pay the bill, right beneath the cost was that same exact sentence. Maybe they considered paying a substantial amount of money for overcooked mussels essential to the American spirit.

Whatever it may have been, many had abandoned the notion of ever receiving a good meal at the Glen after Alejandro, the first and only chef to do the place justice, left for London. And while since his departure, the food and the service remained something to be desired, the atmosphere was not.

It had been said through passing that the only guarantee at the Glen was that when the doors to the cafe would swing open; whoever was to enter would always have a story to tell. And though the stories would change throughout the day, essentially they were always the same.

The elderly men and women who ate breakfast at a quarter to seven often spoke of the disadvantages they faced having to depend on their grandchildren, yet oddly, they all seem to feel the same hatred for nursing homes.

The stay-at-home mothers who would come in for brunch usually spoke of nothing but their children until someone brought gossip to the table––and believe me, someone always did.

The seats in the afternoon were usually occupied by the teenagers from Glenville High School who all ordered the same exact thing––a cheeseburger with French fries. And after quickly eating their meals in a short amount of time, they'd sit and talk incessantly about their seemingly attainable future goals. When hours passed and the conversations and self-indulgence seemed to have come to a halt, they would finally pay the bill and allow the investment bankers (the ones who worked in the city but lived in Connecticut) to take over their seats.

Though the investment bankers didn't order much, they still ran up a pretty large tab made up entirely of drinks. The conversations were loud and everyone talked over one another. Yet when they got up to go to the bathroom––which they so often did––the volume decreased drastically. Suddenly, when you listened in on the right side of the room, you could hear excuses and explanations being made about how the New York Jets could be crushed by the hapless Oakland Raiders. To the left side of the room was where the self-righteous conservative investment bankers sat and spoke of how the majority of our past presidents that were democrats have all been self-contradicting nihilist.

And lastly, to the very back of the Glen, you couldn’t really hear much besides pots and pans banging in the kitchen. No one really liked to sit in the back of the Glen, but at times when the restaurant was crowded, there wasn't any other choice.

There was something bittersweet about being at the Glen. Though no one really wanted to admit it, there wasn't any other place around like it. It was at the Glen’s bathroom stall where Mimi Gunner went into labor. It was at the Glen’s parking lot that Aaron Baldwin proposed to Edna Ganger. And it was at the Glen that Lester Caulfield would first lay eyes and hands on Zoë Lane.

Lester Caulfield was a 39 year old investment banker who had made quite a name for himself over in the city. He was 6'1, with a slender physique that he tried very hard to alter night after night at the gym. He had a young mans face with large dark eyes that gave off the impression that he was somehow always surprised to see you. His brown careless hair reached almost to his shoulders and looked a bit too young for a man his age, but made him all the more attractive.

He had a 17 year old son named Landon with his wife, Ellen Richer, a sort-of-but-not-really successful writer whose father, before he passed away, was a former editor for the New York Times.

When Ellen first met Lester, they were both Yale attendees who shared a passion for adventure and agreed that a life made up of routines was a waste of time painstakingly.

It had been the evening of Lester’s young republican’s meeting and after exiting, he had decided he’d take, like he so often did, the long route back to the dormitory. As he crossed one of the many bridges surrounding the Yale campus, he thought of how much he hated New Haven, or more specifically; Yale. He hated the person Yale had forced him to become, and wanted nothing more then to leave it behind once and for all.

However appealing the idea of leaving Yale sounded, he knew that deep inside his feelings of wanting to leave could only be shown (not even uttered) on that bridge that separated the Physics and English department. It was on that bridge that Lester thought all the thoughts that he wasn’t allowed to think.

He paced back and fourth on that bridge, occasionally stopping to glance over at the lake (that may or may not have been very deep) and pictured his lifeless body sinking to the bottom. Just a few feet from where the bridge came to an end were benches that had been covered entirely with dead leaves abandoned by the fall season. And aside those very leaves sat Ellen, staring at the boy who at the time she barely knew, but couldn’t take her eyes off of.

As Ellen would later explain it at countless dinner parties, when Lester walked off that bridge and sat alongside her on the bench, she knew that he was the boy who she wanted to spend the rest of her nights with.

The response to that story was always an “aww” followed by a compliment that may or may not have been genuine. And despite the fact that Ellen would always receive the same “Aww…you guys are perfect for each other,” she knew that Lester was no longer the same tragic boy who sat next to her on a bench one night. He was now a tragic man with issues not even Ellen could begin to comprehend.

Lester

When Lester was not dressed in the traditional investment banker suit, he would wear T-shirts and jeans that fit his body great, but left very little to the imagination in the groin section. After work, or on his days off, Lester spent as much time out the house as he could; either going to the gym or going to the Glen for a drink.

One Thursday evening, after getting off of work, Lester rushed back home to Glenville to try and get a work out in before the gym closed. He had almost made the 6:45 train at Grand Central Station but was delayed by a bus and car collision on Madison Avenue. Sitting in the taxi cab, Lester strained to see the fumes and ambulance up ahead. He glanced over at the clock and back to the accident and realized that he had missed his train; the one and only thing that Lester looked forward to, and got him through the day, was now gone. And just like back at Yale, he wished strongly that he was no longer alive. Though there was no lake to picture his lifeless body floating in, there was now an ambulance to picture his dead body lying in.

When Lester finally got on the train and arrived to the Glenville station, it was already a quarter to 9 and the gym was to be closed soon. A saddened Lester figured that a drink at the Glen would be a nice treat since he missed his only true motivation for getting through the day.

Lester arrived to the Glen at 15 minutes pass 9 and parked his car in the parking lot to the back of the café. He entered and was overwhelmingly greeted by a room filled with men all dressed exactly like he was. This made Lester contemplate running for the door while removing his suit simultaneously. And he might have just done it if it weren't for a table being vacant in the back––far away from the others.

The waitress, who Lester requested the table from, gave him a look that he could only imagine was skepticism. Knowing that since so many investment bankers thought it a sin to sit in the back, she would not have dared offered it to him if he didn’t request it. Despite her confusion, she showed him to his seat.

Lester’s table was just steps away from the kitchen, so whenever the door would swing open, it would bump his table and send the salt shaker jumping 2 inches closer to the pepper shaker. Lester watched while every time the salt would move a bit closer to the pepper, the pepper would move that much further away. He thought of how his relationship with Ellen had become so much like the salt and pepper shakers on the table; made up entirely of synchronized movements that seemed to push them further apart.

For so long, Lester had loved Ellen and wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of his life with her. This was never something Lester would have questioned if it weren't for one morning when he awoke to find Ellen lying beside him, still asleep, just like the night before and every night before that.

You see, it wasn’t so much as Ellen lying beside him as it was the fact that he knew that every morning when he awoke, he would always see her lying beside him. She would always be facing in the same position to the right side of the room with blankets creased between her legs and a pillow resting between her right arm and breast. That feeling of constant predictability became the guiding force behind Lester distancing himself from Ellen.

What else could he really have done? After all, It shouldn’t have bothered Lester; that was his wife, the mother of his child, the woman who he had stood in front of on their wedding day and promised that he would forever be faithful and devoted to her.

However, this was the same woman whose everyday routine no longer left any room for creativity. Whatever love that was once felt for Ellen had since disappeared––and Lester had no intentions on trying to find it. And deep down inside, as much as Lester wanted to yearn for the day where her presence didn’t annoy him to the point of disbelief and they could be reunited in love, he decided that he would be content with the salt and pepper shakers being reunited first.

And while Lester awaited that reunion in the back of the Glen that Thursday evening, a voice of a young woman would get his attention first.

“Excuse me…excuse me sir...hello?”

Lester awoke from gazing at the table where now, just the salt shaker stood (the pepper shaker had fallen and shattered all over the floor.)

“Yes?” Lester responded

“May I please get the salt?”

“yeah...yeah…sure,” Lester glanced over at the table and grabbed the salt. As he looked back at her, he noticed an incredibly gorgeous, yet incredibly young, girl staring back at him. She was probably no older than 18, but in Lester's eyes was still beautiful. He looked up and admired her long blond hair that was connected tightly in a ponytail. Her green eyes, when contrasted with her pale white face made her seem more serious than she actually was. He let his eyes wander down to his hands that was still holding the salt that awaited departure.

Her silky skin made Lester wonder if she used some sort of special lotion for her hands. He looked at her face and wondered if it too were soft.

“Thank you,” she responded, stretching out the words to somehow indicate something was happening that she wasn't all too comfortable with.

That was when Lester realized that he had not stopped caressing her hand even after the“thank you” had been given. He quickly let go of her hand and with an embarrassed look on his face, he shifted his eyes to the kitchen as if the food he had not yet ordered (in fact he had not even opened the menu) was somehow going to appear on a plate in the hands of the waitress.

Not wanting to look like a complete imbecile, Lester thought of something clever he could say to the girl he had just touched that would make him seem less like an idiot.

“I would offer you the pepper but sadly, it ran away.” Lester lifted his feet to give her a better view of the pepper that was spilled all over the floor.

She laughed immaturely to a joke not even Lester found funny. Normally that would have turned Lester off, but it actually made her all the more adorable––something Ellen was no longer.

“I’m Lester,” he announced with a sigh of relief, optioning out his hand for hers while rubbing both his thumb and index fingers together to poke fun at the caressing that was just done a little while ago.

“I’m Zoë,” she dropped her hands into his and allowed him to caress it once. Hoping maybe he'd do it again, she left her hands there, even after he began asking her another question.

“Zoë? What type of name is Zoë?”

“The type of name that a person named Lester is in no position to question.”

“Ah, Touché”

Zoe had finally pulled her hand back and began salting her fries.

“Isn't it a bit late for you to be here? I thought the high school students left at 6:30.”

“Well, normally I would have left by now, but there isn't much I would be doing at home. So isn't only logical that I would stay and have dinner here?”

“I'm sure your parents must be wondering where you are.”

“No, I'm sure that's probably the last thing they're wondering.”

Zoe shifted her eyes from Lester back to her fries. She picked one up and shoved it in her mouth even though she wasn't really hungry.

“Well, if your parents don't mind, I see no reason you shouldn't be here.”

“I'm glad you see that Lester.”

The two exchanged no words for the next 10 minutes or so. Lester finally opened his menu and after reading that nights specials twice, he finally came to the conclusion that he was not hungry. What he was, in fact, in the mood for, was a drink.

“MAD-DE-IN is it?” Lester asked the waitress whose name card read MHADINE

“No, it's HAY-DINE, the M is silent and there's a Y between the A and D”

“Oh, well look at that.”

“Well, HAY-DINE with a silent M and an invisible Y, I'll have a dry martini, but in a Collins glass. And I want it filled right up to the brim.”

“Would that be all?” Mhadine asked in a fed-up-with-his-shit-sort-of-way

“Yes, that will be all HAY-DINE”

Mhadine walked away muttering the words asshole, presumably geared towards Lester and his mispronunciation.

“You know she's gonna spit in your drink right?” said Zoe, offering her two cents on the situation

“It's fine, I know Mhadine; I come here all the time.”

“Oh. Well why haven't I ever seen you here before?”

“I usually arrive back in town at around 8. You're probably home asleep by then.”

Zoë then responded to Lester's insult in a way that made her seem even younger than she actually was.

“Stop treating me like I'm four years old...I'm 17. I'm gonna be 18 in the summer.”

Lester chuckled at her age and thought of a flattering response:

“Well, I must say, I've met quite a few 17 year olds and you're probably one of the most mature ones I've ever met.”

“Do you mean it Lester? You're not just saying that?” Zoe asked in an all-too-eager-way

“No, I mean it. You're very mature for your age.”

Zoe smiled a very adorable smile that made Lester stare. Then she asked him the question that had been running through her mind ever since her already salty fries “needed” more:

“Well if I'm so mature...why haven't you asked me to join you to dinner?”

As Zoë was speaking those words, Lester was taking the first sip out of his drink that had just arrived.

“Would you care to join me Zoë?”

“I would love to.”

Zoë grabbed her French fries and book bag and moved in beside Lester in his round booth.

“What does your book bag say on it?” Lester asked, staring at her book bag that laid beside her hips.

“It says Lady DuBois, after Blanche DuBois, from a Streetcar Named Desire.”

“Haven't seen it or read it.”

“Oh you've got to be kidding me.”

“No, actually I haven't read it. What is it about?”

“Well it's about this fragile southern beauty named Blanche. And Blanche is visiting her sister Stella in New Orleans. Stella is married to Stanley, a jerk of the worse kind. Stanley has a bit of temper and doesn't really like Blanche. And he will make sure that Blanche doesn't ruin anything for him and Stella. It's a wonderful play, you should really read it.”

“From your description, it doesn't seem like much happens in it.”

“Oh, but a lot does happen. At one point, Stanley even rapes Blanche. Then, sends her off to the loony bin.”

“How did he rape her?”

“Well she first tried to hit him with a bottle” Zoë grabbed Lester's empty Collins glass and acts out a hit to his head. She then grabs his hands and places them on her wrist.

“... but before she could connect, he grabbed her wrist and forced the bottle out of her hand. He then picks her up and carries her over to the bed.”

Lester's hands were still on Zoë's wrist. He contemplated moving them but didn't; he liked the way her skin felt against his.

“Just like this?” Lester asked Zoë while moving his hands lower and lower down her arm

“Yeah, just like that,” she responded while fidgeting in her seat.”

“Did you think Blanche liked it?”

“I don't know, it didn't really go into much detail in the play.”

“Well I'm sure she probably liked it a little.”

Lester touched Zoë's shoulders, then let his hands slide down to her back as he felt the strap of her bra and wished that her shirt didn't separate his hands from her skin.

“People are looking Lester,” she said in a cracking low voice.

“Well, let's make sure they don't see anything.”

Lester slid his hands down Zoë's back and made his way towards the front of her stomach. He lifted the white shirt she was wearing and began unbuttoning her pants. With each opening of the kitchen door came a bump of the table. And each time the table would shake, so would Lester's hands. Lester unzipped her pants as Zoë tried her hardest to engage him in a conversation so it wouldn't look suspicious.

“Where do you live?”

“Just a mile from here,” Lester responded while touching her just shaved pubic hairs.

“You live alone?”

Instead of answering the question, Lester moved further down to her clitoris. He began by letting his index finger trace the shaping of it before he pulled back the hood. Then he allowed for his pinky finger to continue the job.

“How does that feel?” Lester asked Zoë while the kitchen door hit the table once again and the Mexican table buster reached his hand out, a gesture that meant he's sorry.

“It's okay,” she responded to both the Mexican and Lester

Lester wondered if her response was to him or the table buster. Either way, he was to continue on with what he was doing. Lester thought of how if it was only okay now, she had no idea what was in store for her.

“Tell me when it hurts. Don't say stop, don't moan...just tell me when it hurts,” he ordered

Lester slid his ring finger inside Zoë's vagina with his left hand and signaled the waitress for another drink by lifting his glass with his right. Zoë's eyes were still closed, but her lips would quiver every time Lester would push the finger in a bit harder.

As the waitress poured Lester's drink from the martini shaker into the glass, he pushed in a bit harder, but still kept the majority of the finger outside of the hole.

Zoë's lips quivered even more.

The waitress began writing the extra drink to Lester's bill and soon after, she looked over at him. Lester hesitated and pulled out his finger, causing Zoë to open up her eyes and look over at the waitress. The waitress pointed her finger out to the both of them, and swung it from left to right, as if she were asking with just her hands if they were together. A scared Lester misinterpreted the gesture and mouthed, “no.” Zoë whispered to Lester: “She means are we on the same bill.”

An embarrassed Lester chuckled a bit and looked over at Zoë.

“Again, but this time, don't open your eyes,” he said

Lester pulled her underwear to the left (while still trying to decide what print was on the front) and began moving his finger inside slower and slower. He glanced over to see the waitress just a few tables away.

Trying his hardest to test boundaries, Lester pushed his finger all the way inside, causing Zoë to let out a closed-mouth scream that only Lester and probably the Mexican heard.

“What's on your finger? It's cold,” she asked after she caught her breath

“I said don't say anything.”

Lester smiled at the waitress who was now just a few feet away from his table. When she arrived, she barely paid any attention to Zoë. She placed the drink down on the table and walked into the kitchen.

Lester moved his finger in once more and now, instead of making a sound, Zoë simply flinched. Lester felt the moisture beginning to fill the walls of her vagina. He knew if he went inside once more, even just half way, she would have climaxed.

Instead he removed his finger and wiped his hand with the tables cloth. He glanced over at Zoë with a smile and took a sip of his drink.

“It's not filled all the way to the top.”

“What's not?” Zoë asked, breathing heavily with a bead of sweat dripping down her neck.

“My drink.”

Zoe sat there, confused, while Lester finished his drink.

“Do you want a ride home?” he asked her, almost as if he owed her the favor

“Umm, yeah, that would be great.”

Lester signaled over for the check and did his best to try and hide his bulging erection that was now visible. As Lester tapped his credit card on the table and waited for the bill, he looked over at Zoë.

“What was that on your finger that was so cold?” she asked him, almost worried that he might have hurt her.

Lester waited for the waitress to come and take the credit card before he answered. He muttered the words: “A homage to true American spirit,” and smiled.

He pulled his pants once more to allow more space for his penis to roam, and then lifted his left hand and placed it on the table.

Zoë stared at the very finger that was just inside of her. She thought of how good it felt, yet when her eyes noticed the silver band reflecting in the light above their heads, she asked:

“You're married?”

The Reoccuring Lie

Retreat back to your caves, the war has come to an end!
No longer will it be our country you will have to lend.
No longer will your streets be filled with unfamilar faces.
As soon as they're gone, we'll wash away their traces.
No longer will fear be pierced into your soul
Your life and your childrens you will take back ahold
First thing tomorrow, their planes will be at flight
They'll land in their place of origin, and we'll have ours back
Only then will things seem somewhat in tact
For this war was not for us, it was not our decision
Follow the choices of the Government, they say
Or have a hell of a time in prison.
Abandon the notion of rebellion and become just another sheep in the herd
Or else flea this country like a disobedient bird
Set your clocks because tomorrow, we will all finally be free
Don't take my word for it, just wake and you'll see
No longer shall your beliefs have to be silenced
But beware, one thing will remain
and that's the violence.

Secrets Saved on Salina

when i was dismissed from Ohe Nahn
the first time
i found myself bruised and taken in by Salina

curse you Ohe Nahn
For the things you didnt prepare me for, i encountered on Salina
the things parents pay to shield their children from, i was given a high definition view of by Salina
I nodded,
not slept,
down Seneca's Turnpike into living quarters of a
warm rock fiend mother
scheevy alocholic son and
young unsuspecting daughter
who showed me the ways of getting by
on Salina's terms.
who taught me to use the high hills of Salina in my favor
for "the city's watch men in white and black vehicles dare not travel north."
they repeated, one evening
as i sat, in car
beside warm rock-fiend junior
three seconds and a lighter flick away from
ether propelled flames burning all we ever were
on Salina.
thank you Salina for noses
to notice the smell of the ether
and for shitty lighters
that didnt work when you needed it not to the most.
however Salina,
I do not thank you for the
many men who traveled
in and out of warm rock fiends bedroom
delivering and taking for Salina
unapologetically
i act asleep, knowing i should leave at once
but i don't
i almost love you, Salina

when i was dismissed from Ohe Nahn
for the second time,
i found myself wrapped in a tango
once again with Salina

let this be the last time Ohe Nahn
that you take from me what I did not offer for taking
i rolled, not walked, down Salina
into the apartment of two army brats
and a mexican thrillseeker
by the end of the four months
we had sold all our material posessions to various pawn shops on Salina
we had tapped out our parents for all financial support
because of Salina
we were hungry
for Salina
we were craving
Salina
we planned schemes and diversions
robberys and heist
non violent
but nonsensical
all for you Salina
your thriving streets, filled with wasted time
our wasted souls filled with your thriving drugs

where we learned more
ohe nahn or salina
that's still up for grabs
and for the time being,
things are seemingly under wraps

The Greatest Jones

The Greatest Jones

 
Bridled around numbered avenues and lingering beneath neon signs of industry
the loss congregate
heads still bopping to the faint sound of Charles Mingus records spinning in the living rooms of deceased fiends and foes
taken by time and dope
Empty coffee cup spasms for spare change outside iron horse stations makes dimly lit Bowery alleys come to life
with shadowy images tightening leather belts and syringe piercings
Horrendous coughs releasing day old black tar phlegm
Bottles cling and clack, not for celebratory "cheers!" but as a result of inebriated spills
The amplified sound of decaying skin scratches reverberate through Great Jones St.
Skulls levitate just above sidewalks, mid nod
Still slightly bopping to Mingus
In search of the greatest Jones.