She.. The Mistress of the NIght

She was sitting there, in the far corner of the bar basking in the ultra blue light of the bar. Legs crossed. Sheer black dress. Ruby red lipstick.

A slim cigarette in an ivory holder held firmly between her lips. Puffs of little clouds escaping with every breath.

Slightly chipped nails playing with the curls. an inwardly pressure building. an eruption of feelings. Feelings across the spectrum. The need to be held then released. Kissed and left alone under a lamp in the street. Wined and dined with no promises beyond 9pm.

Fragment #8 Burnin Love

A dark bar..wooden floors..Five slot machines in a dark corner next to the ladies washroom.

A man with blue glasses, baby blue frames..baby blue aviators ..in an Air Canada pilot uniform complete with a hat, and three stars on each shoulder.

“Elvis is alive”  he proclaims..no one raises their eyes. the old man still playing the machine, a youngish bald guy sipping a bloody Mary on the counter, me nursing a beer .. and our friend the pilot in the shadow proclaiming the immortal life of the Hunk of Burnin Love.

“I have evidence .. a watch”. A huge circular Coca Cola red wall watch .. with the picture of Elvis. A profile of Elvis in a white rhinestone suit..an angelic or prophetic image..

“He is alive” some crack a laugh.. the man leaves carrying the watch ..dragging the evidence of immortality and hops to the next bar.