Krt.

by Horror Sleaze Trash on May 27, 2012

Group Shot

Claustrophobic room above the drugstore coat of lead paint cracks in the ceiling in her face. A kind of holding cell for fuck ups and losers looking back on ex-wives and girlfriends. He stays in that place.

Old guy, buys us beer. The water tower the room his mouth is lined with lead. People get sick here, get cancer.

Hey, mister…

She gave us some.

We go to the dump, shoot bottles and cans, rats. No shoes. Me and Duane. And the guy and the girl. Georgia somewhere. That’s all he told us so that’s all we know.

She’s mute, has a Bugs Bunny tattoo.

Sitting there sucking down beer sharing our weed with him. Jumpy. Wants to drink, needs company. The girl never laughs. Stag films. Fed there. Or whatever his name is. Nervous, likes to talk. I have a couple of uncles like that.

Put my finger on it. Here. The basement.

One of them left a darkroom took an interest in a teenager then outgrew it. Without windows. Soft-core porn and hot-rod mags, old curling photos, forgotten shoes and socks. My negatives. I print some.

“Mom” 1979 (11 x 16) $200.00 (unframed.)

It’s just kids fucking around popping pills boozing it up and the funerals with the parents wailing. Windshields spattered with blood. Dad takes us there. The dump the junkyard. He looks nothing like us.

Leave for good no one cares you’re a broken home. Never say what’s broken about it. Long bridge. There’s a sign just as you pass says ENTERING.

He isn’t really a friend.

I have these people popping up all around me no good. Knew it right away. Tried to kiss her. Some pot or booze or a plan to build a boat that just might float and off we go in a big blue car wreck. Bottles and cans mostly. Sit up there and sweat an old fan turning circles and watch me try to play my out of tune Guitar Hero. There’s a window leads out onto the roof shimmy down a pipe and you’re gone. Get back in the same way. Not that you can’t walk in and out the front door like a real person.

Dyed black, greased back.

Shoots worms full of air to float on the lake–fishing trick at a party trying to get into his daughter’s pants–diabetic–explained what he was doing and why.

I wouldn’t but wanted to and couldn’t so he did it for me. Kept my eyes closed. Fucking her. Pulling his hands away and laughing. Needle bouncing up and down. I couldn’t watch that for long. Shoving Saturday morning cartoons into his mouth sitting next to me on the couch. Got it done once he finished. Stopped calling him an asshole. Or one of my brothers or sisters. Fed there. Nothing happened. I was kind of wishing that girl would let go. Let’s do it again a bunch of the stuff. Clean out an old lady’s medicine cabinet after mowing her lawn. Not hard to come by. Unzipping our pants. Jesus, wait awhile. Listened to some records I couldn’t play along with. Jesus, wait awhile. Drooling like idiots.

He didn’t say just and he didn’t say pussy and he didn’t say fake but I knew that’s what he meant.

A rotating set of costumes and a chain running from his wallet to his belt loop. Next day he’s a cowboy. My mascot. Wants to be like us. Normal. We joke about him behind his back.

The way they sit or stand or walk or look at you and look away. He was either gone so much or around so much I couldn’t see him anymore. After that you’re on your own. Trying to scare the little monsters begging candy on the porch. Some lady dressed as Dracula. Me, peering over her shoulder.

He’s hiding in the library. There’s a hole. I know these people. I know this place. And the AC is always on her.

Talking along the edge of it. An alpha guy gets all the girls like in vacation photos but I keep that a secret. His smile. Scary, that’s what. And I want him to like me. A good kid more or less. How do people get that way?

Here. Same place I’ve always been.

A pit he dug in their parent’s back yard that he puts the dog down and covers up with a piece of plywood piles bricks on top while screaming. Shoes and socks. His sister. Grows up to be a prison guard in Jackson after I move to the city and she comes to see me one night. That’s where they’ll stay for now. That place is no better than here.

They’re all the same girl. Postcards with no words. Smiley faces.

I only take one and it’s a group shot. Old lady’s medicine cabinet. The negative, never print it. Picking at a scab on her arm with a safety-pin and a bottle of India-ink. The one we all dream about jack off sit close to. Look both ways. Collide with her at a mall she’s been committed to. She’ll be there on a three hour off grounds pass supervised by her grandparents. Lose them and find me and I’ll tear out the page she’s looking for. Jump out and run or one of my brothers or sisters screaming and disappear while I explain things. Move to the city go kicking accuse her of fucking those guys. Just as you pass. Jail letters lost in the mail. Steal a car and point it like a gun. Cracks in the windshield the road in his face.

This is where you’ll find me.

Kurt Eisenlohr

krt33@earthlink.net

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