(no subject)
Some days, I step out of the compound, onto grass and sand, look out over the playground just in the distance, and I expect to see the cars circling the trees, windows down and the shadowed faces inside. I half expect to get picked up, a guy with a fifty burning a hole in his wallet. A husband. A boyfriend. A loser too fucked up to be anything but alone. Too old to get the pretty ones for free anymore. The ones whose tastes run a little outside the realm of normal. The ones that like to watch a skinny kid playing on the jungle gym alone, fantasizing about sex on the merry-go-round. The ones that pay me fifty bucks for a quick blowjob or maybe a fuck in an even cheaper hotel room. The ones who taste like stale cigarettes and desperation. Come and sweat and loneliness.
Those are the ones who came for me.
But the power trip faded. Being a god to men who wouldn't know grace if it bit 'em on the ass. Being beautiful to someone willing to shove a crusty bill in my hand and fuck bruises onto my thighs. The thrill sorta faded, but now... maybe especially now, I'm not sure what else I'm supposed to be. Not a husband. Not a boyfriend. Not even a good friend anymore. What the fuck else am I supposed to be?
So today, I step out of the compound, and it's there, waiting for me just beyond the swing set and merry-go-round I watched friends build out of love. My lips twist and I cough out a laugh, walking forward to stand near the slide, watching it from a distance before I finally get the nerve to move closer. There's no one inside. No eyes dragging over me, eager and practically drooling with the anticipation of it. There's no one. Nothing but an empty white Camaro with it's engine idling, the windows rolled down and the radio playing static, a burning cigarette in the ashtray. "You fucking asshole," I mutter, reaching in to turn off the ignition, grabbing a smoke from the half empty pack of Pall Malls in the front seat and then moving to lean against the hood.
My eyes are damp after the first inhale and I drag the back of my hand across them, waiting for Preston to show up, maybe, and drive me home.
[OOC: Neil has just found his third item, not far from the playground. It's an '83 Camaro, shown here. It's an okay time to meet him, he just won't say much. Old friends definitely welcome. ST/LT more than welcome.]
