lost in the bop night

12:00 a.m., july 30, 2007
24-hour zine, go!

sometimes, a gal just has to get herself lost.  with some winecolored lipstick on her lips, a curve-hugging dress (that was once long but she chopped off just above the knees), a fresh pack of smokes, and her switchblade snug in her purse – just in case, you know the hoodlums who roam the drunken dark alleys of full moon and factory town, and would love to get their hands on her curves & their lips on her winecolored ones – she'll get in her car and put on duke ellington's latin american suites and drive through the sunday night looking for this bar she's never been to before but she heard they have a dj that plays jazz on sundays.  and she'll drive, this dame, too fast around bends and take a few wrong turns down seedy side streets past stripclubs and pawnshops and turn up the music louder and blow her cigarette smoke out the window, up toward the full moon which looks like it's winking at her, and she'll feel for a second like she's starring in a noir film or perhaps a pulp novel, she'll take a few more wrong turns and for a few blissful moments she'll realize she is lost!  blissful lostness in the city she lives in!  it only lasts a few moments and then our gal will get back on track, and she'll know she's found the right place – though it has no sign to advertise its name – when she sees a building strung round with redlights and a sweet old cream coupe parked out front – and she'll park her car and walk on over and as she approaches she'll hear the sound of bebop bass thrumming through the walls and that's it.  she'll waltz in and heads will turn, right?

that's where i am right now. burnheart's. there is jazz playing half-naked burlesque girls painted on the walls, and a glass of merlot full in front of me and i don't know if i really turned any heads but i dig this place. sunday night and the joint is jumpin'.

 

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