Chapter 17
247 Words
Chapter 17
We walked along a street where two young Nigerian girls were showing off their wares. I’m more discreet usually, but couldn’t help but watch as they called out to men driving by and squeezing their breasts to present them. Not that they were in any way hidden, of course. The girls, not the breasts. It was broad daylight.
I thought these things happen only at night?
Talk about a distorted worldview from TV.
Loud chewing of gum, perky lips, fishnets. Some animal prints of course. It was like an unofficial uniform, as if there were general guidelines posted up somewhere with what a prostitute should wear to be considered one. You could mix and match, but the general view should work like a neon sign.
Billy took one peek and then proceeded along as if nothing happened.
The poor boy was embarrassed, that big cushy wushy!
We got to the sculpture, at last. Yup, it was big and tall and metal and rusty. Piece of garbage in a man form.
“There it is,” Billy said as if the female partner, moi, was blind or something and couldn’t notice a huge metal man by herself.
I told him exactly that.
“Just sayin’, here we are. What now?”
“No idea,” I said, and had no idea. At all. I checked my phone, no new messages. Not from this Prodromos, that is. I always had new messages, from stalkers and gawkers and droolers. Those were my own categories, I’ll explain them another time.
But from the man in question, nothing.
- Writer
