The Blurb at 10
The crisp acrid smell of hairspray still hangs in the air between as I nearly walked into myself from two minutes before, toweling the wet locks behind my ears. I would like to say there was a confusion about the matter, but hardwired programming from deep in the cellar comes storming up, muscles lock, bones set, adrenaline firing off like drednoughts.
Technically, I am at the advantage. He is naked, the towel draped now to block sight of his genitals, his thighs moving like tectonic plates, interlocking and unstable. I have jeans that might as well have been kevlar, no swinging parts to distract the thought of attack, the nervous open feeling when you look out off the rockface. The reason no one wants to be attacked in the shower - the one beautiful helpless moment. Its unfortunate; and amid the struggling, swinging, dangling parts, the thought crosses my mind twice that this is simply bad luck.
Slumped on the floor, I make a point to tuck his genitals beneath him for the crime scene photos - the public will accept a bare assed man on page one, but cropping the pinkish head out will be a photo editor’s nightmare. Its simply courteuos. However, the thought comes and goes while I urinate in the sink, careful to avoid leaving a trail: where am I going to live now? Now that I am dead?
Technically, I am at the advantage. He is naked, the towel draped now to block sight of his genitals, his thighs moving like tectonic plates, interlocking and unstable. I have jeans that might as well have been kevlar, no swinging parts to distract the thought of attack, the nervous open feeling when you look out off the rockface. The reason no one wants to be attacked in the shower - the one beautiful helpless moment. Its unfortunate; and amid the struggling, swinging, dangling parts, the thought crosses my mind twice that this is simply bad luck.
Slumped on the floor, I make a point to tuck his genitals beneath him for the crime scene photos - the public will accept a bare assed man on page one, but cropping the pinkish head out will be a photo editor’s nightmare. Its simply courteuos. However, the thought comes and goes while I urinate in the sink, careful to avoid leaving a trail: where am I going to live now? Now that I am dead?