(Sammy, the Gat, is a continuing story.)
I bunny hop it over Shifty Sally’s coolin’ bod and skip-step downstairs to an open door. I stick my brain container into the 9’ x 12’ and give it the 90-degree. There’s a dame sittin’ in a four-legger behind a six-drawer paper-clip holder. She’s wearin’ white with a crimson map spreadin’ across her femininity and her open pie hole ain’t sportin’ a happy one. I check the tick-tock and I’m only two 60-seconds late. Top-floor Tillie must’a stopped by on her way up the circular. Nothin’ here except a stiff broad and a color litho of a tree with a ticky tacked on it. I get the message. Casablanca ’45. Outside. Under the tree. Me, Belinda and Sam at Rick’s piano. Like it or not, in two hours, I’m headin’ east on an airborne windmill.
THE GATIONARY of Sammy Speak
airborne windmill: n. prop plane. brain container: n. head.
four-legger: n. office chair. pie hole: n. mouth.
six-drawer paper clip holder: n. office desk. ticky: n. plane ticket.
(Photo by Indira. April 5, 2013.)