Down and Out in Saginaw

…down-and-out in Saginaw, with red-eyes from drinking anesthesia’s cheap “hooch”, once a promising somebody, now a Vampire, with weeds over the nave’s grave…and then, along came Joan, slowing talking Joan, with her hands on her hips and a face like a saint, smoking a Camel,,,I would have walked a mile for that cigarette, in her “Hoochie Coochie” stilettos…Thinking, that I was going to do something stupid tonight. Then it struck me. “Pardon me, Joan, but do you have any Grey Poupon?”

Her lips parted like a curtain call, revealing teeth yellowed by nicotine and neglect. The laugh that followed was hoarse, like gravel in a tin can. “Honey,” she said, blowing smoke into the alley, “you ain’t got the taste buds for Grey Poupon no more, but I do have an Oscar Mayor wiener in my purse—pulling out a Bombay Rorschach Martini with garlic condiment stuck on a toothpick—if you’re feeling peckish.” The stench of spoiled meat and cheap perfume hit me like a brick to the face, and suddenly, my undead hunger wasn’t so pressing and knowing that I should have asked for a V8 juice instead.

My fangs retracted involuntarily. “Christ, Joan—when did you last clean that purse? The Great Depression?” She shrugged, the movement causing her rhinestone crop top to catch the light of the all-night pawn shop across the street. “A lady’s got her mysteries,” she purred, hiking up a stocking that was more ladder than fabric. The sound of tearing nylon mingled, she’s thinking, I was Batman, speaking from the cave.