Snake Girl VS the KKK by Peter Joseph Swanson

Author:Peter Joseph Swanson [Swanson, Peter Joseph]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Published: 2014-01-30T04:30:00+00:00

* * * * *

That same hour, under a big broken umbrella, Michael entered 7th Street, the final home stretch to his apartment. He was carrying a big skirt for the night’s performance.

He practiced his part of the duet from The Wiz he’d sing with Lizzi, he playing Dorothy and she playing the lion. He sang, “There is a place we’ll go where there is mostly quiet.

Flowers and butterflies… a rainbow lives beside it.”

He paused, noticing that the shop below his apartment had closed for the day. He cursed aloud. That meant he’d been gone longer than he’d intended. He still had so much to do before the big show. He had to spray paint some shoes to make them red and then while the paint was still wet and sticky sprinkle on some glitter. He had to call Lizzi. He had to eat something. He had to shave. As he approached the store he noticed the country smell of pig shit. He thought that was a very odd smell for the city. It grew stronger as he came to his own door. He didn’t know what to think until he realized the stench was wafting down the stairs from his apartment. He raced up them, two at a time, and saw that his lock-jam had been kicked out of his doorframe. He gagged, covering his mouth as he entered his pungent apartment.

“Holy shit!” he cried as he looked about in horror. He nearly fainted from the sight. His entire apartment had been trashed and what must have amounted to several buckets of runny pig manure had been slopped here and there over strewn clothes, books, furniture, and art. The guitar was completely smashed. He saw some of his records cracked in two.

He began to cry as he kicked at a soiled wig. If anything was salvageable he wasn’t about to dig through the globs of reeking crap to find it. Marlene Dietrich’s cool face of withdrawal stared up at him from the glossy pages that had been torn out of his pricey Hollywood Portraits book. He noticed the gold jawbone of a plastic skull in a pile of dirt and broken plants. His heart jolted at the sight of his top-secret guilty pleasure lying out, exposed and spattered with shit—his secret Nancy Reagan scrapbook was ripped open and ruined.

Eventually he realized that maybe he should fear for his life. He wasn’t about to stand around wiping up poop to find out. He fought back tears then ran out of the apartment in a blind panic, running to the comfort of the Cabaret.

He slammed open the narrow door to the dressing room and caught two bouncers sharing a thin little joint. “Get out, you two,” Michael ordered, “or I’ll spray you with lady perfume.”

“Fuck you!”

Michael snapped. “Out! Your friggin’ oregano stinks!”

They clomped down the stairs.

Michael shivered and looked hard at the painted star of Aphrodite above him. Even though he’d already decided what he was going to do, he prayed,

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