I was wearing eyeliner, she was wearing eyeliner ...
So I'm standing in the Velvet Lounge with Nealsie and Jennifer, the chick he picked up the other night before we went to Feingold's party; we're waiting in the grungy club as the Spaztastics set up, and, aside from some Fred Durst-looking stooges with more tattoos than they know what do to with, I haven't seen Deborah at all and I can't believe I've dragged Nealsie and that Jennifer here. And get this, Nealsie made Jennifer pay the cover, unreal. I'm not sure what girls see in him, I mean it usually takes at least a month or two of his selfish schmoozing for them to give him the heave-ho, if he doesn't dump them first, sometimes after the first time he bangs them; hell, with some chicks I don't last past the first look.
Women.
And all in all this is a pretty decent crowd, I suspect, for a Thursday night at 10:00. The Velvet Lounge is the epitome of the indie rock club: full of Pabst Blue Ribbon, but also the other stuff if you can afford it, rife with punk-ass little trustfundmeuptheass scenesters and quite a few knapsack-wearing, tank top-sportin cuties to boot. You can also throw in plenty of horn-rims, purposeful shaggy hair, those trendy rock'n'roll belts with lots of holes in them encircled with metal and '70s and '80s retro garbage as well. I still don't know what made me decide to make the trek, I mean, Deborah is a lot like cocaine. Yeah, I admit, I've dallied with it a few times in my life, with most of the usage coming when I moved out West for a year or two, but to be honest I don't like how it makes me feel: indestructible. Okay, that's a lie. Who doesn't like that? I don't trust how it makes feel, I should say. I did dumb things on the drug, took ridiculous risks, drove while high, which I never do while drunk or smoking weed. Shit, I'm wild enough as it is, don't need no help with the adrenals and Deborah, while incredibly exotic and alluring, is also like a briar patch. It's that old anti-drug commercial come to life, the one with the chick diving off the board expecting to split the water, only, unbeknownst to her, there's none in the pool. That's the type of effect this crazy chick is having on me, but goddamnit sometimes the pool, God bless it, sometimes that water looks so luminous and salving that I wanna dive in, no matter how choppy those waters might get, no matter how the waves might wanna take me down, no matter how I might meet my demise in the unknowable deep.
That's the power a hot chick has over a man, just like the song says - Percy Sledge was right. And, libido aside, I know what I feel for Deborah or hot chicks in general doesn't come close to love, but lust is the hot-button portal for the vehicle to root and grow, and without it, love wouldn't even have a chance. Maybe it's my one fatal flaw, my penis thinking for the rest of me. But whenever I'm loosed for a short season and I spy an attractive flower who's giving me a rise in the pants and heart and breath, I can't escape it: the devil in me comes out and common sense goes out the window. Whatever it is, the soft, bountiful round breast; the curve of a woman's hip; the fullness of her ass; bone structure of a geometrically aligned face with piercing eyes - coolly detached or hot tamale, either/or; lush full lips, thick halves inviting you in to her inner furnace; the smooth curve of the cheek; the way the hair falls on the face and neck - or doesn't fall on the face or neck if close-cropped - or, if long enough, the way it trails on down her shoulders, a sweeping delight, like a roadmap to the rest of her. Right or wrong baby, appearing out of nowhere, a look across a crowded room, a subtle glance or purse of the lips, flirtatious smile, a subtle deference, a premeditated brush at a club or party, bodies grinding, meeting in a way so intimate that it's almost unspeakable, totally in the moment, I live for that, and don't let any man fool you: A beautiful woman is the elixir of the world. A gorgeous girl is the one mitigating circumstance in any man's life, the thing he desires above all else, in the base, primal way God intended: reproduction and survival of the species demand it. So that, in a nutshell, is why I'm here ... and why I'm the biggest dummy on Mother Earth. And like some fated Greek tragedy, I'm willed on, even though I know it may be the death of me, but I'll take it like a man cause that's what I'm made for.
The Bitter End is a new monthly column featuring creative writing from staff and readers alike. If you'd like to submit work, please email editor@origivation.com
