The Way Back Machine

9-11 Conspiracy, Policy or something else

Loading...

C o m i n g S o o n . . . M y N e w B o o k . . . S l e e p l e s s N i g h t s . . . P l e a s e V i s i t . . . M y O T H E R S I T E S . . . D r e a m s A r e Y o u r s T o S h a r e . . . d h a n o s h ' s B l o g . . . A n d M y P o e m s . . .

Thursday, April 20, 2006

Travels with Charley . . . April 20, 2006

“Hey, let’s get going,” Joe yelled.
“Huh,” I said tucking my pillow tighter into my ear.

“The nights burning . . . and we’re still here.”
I was asleep and it felt so right, laying there. I tried to stretch and got stuck in one of those oh it feels so good moments.

“Come on, unless you’d rather sleep?”
Sleep in . . . I’d rather by shot.
“Heck no,” I yelled and jumped off the bed.

We were down the hall and into the elevators before Joe said another word.

“Man, she wants to see other people,” he said.
“Figures, they’re nothing but problems, at least you know while we’re still in paradise. Joe, they’re plenty of babes to be had.”

But I knew Joe was a wreck inside, that’s just the way the toughest learn to survive. The elevator doors opened to an empty first floor. Gee, I thought, where is everyone? Once outside I knew . . . Four lanes of traffic, headlights shinning bright, honking horns and hordes of screaming teenagers hanging out of cars and truck beds as far as I could see. All trying to get somewhere to imbibe, all trying to hookup for the night and the nightlife, and hungrily going nowhere. The nine o’clock traffic jam . . . Only in Daytona.

“How cool is this Joe?”
“Huh?”
Joe thought I was nuts . . . We climbed into the impala and waited our turn with the masses in the toxic night air.

“Where do you want to go?” asked Joe.
“Just follow the traffic. They seem to know where they’re going.”

As we got to the city limits, we realized the cars had no intention of ever stopping . . . They were cruising, up and down, never stopping. Joe took the next right and headed toward the beach. A cool breeze was blowing in from the ocean. Hidden back away from the road was a bar with Vegas night lights. We entered the door, and wondered what the big deal was all about. We sat down at one of the open tables. A waitress came over. She seemed very nice. She was dressed to kill, in a pair of tight shorts and a bikini top. We ordered Buds. Quickly she returned.

“That’ll be fifteen dollars,” she said.

I looked at Joe. Is this a clip joint? We didn’t want to make a scene in front of such a hot looker and so we reached into our pockets and pulled out the cash. And before she returned with the change the lights dimmed. Music, started blaring a local radio tune, and our waitress went up on stage as the DJ introduced her as the beautiful Heather. She slowly began to dance and gyrate on stage.

“I see,” we said together.
I was in love and for Joe, he quickly forgot about what’s her name. We stayed for one more round. And this time a different waitress served us before she too went on stage . But we were on tight money constraints and that night, I would write my first journal entry to be tagged with green . . . , oh so good.

Dan Hanosh
. . . Brave Men Never Die
They Live in the Hearts
and minds of others.

tags:


dhanosh's blogDreams Are Yours To ShareWarriors and Wars

No comments: