Concrete walls (Fever Ray)

I had no intentions of knocking you over. Really. 
In fact, I still feel bad about it. Bad because you failed to get my number or name. How you must be kicking yourself since then for such an oversight. 
I knew you were going down hard. The sound of your head whiplashing against the concrete. That hollow coconut sound it makes just made me cringe. But, I needed to be elsewhere.

True, I was indeed rushed for time, that is the nature of my work but you were an innocent bystander. I'm not sure why I chose Chillers that day. 
Yes, the young, all female staff is easy on the eyes and often more likely to obey terse instructions.

They actually complied with my order without a glitch. So my being in a hurry was not on account of them being slow or noncompliant. 

But as any entrepreneur will tell you, it really boils down to three pertinent things. Location, location, location.

And this location was too visible. Which, makes for a great ice cream business but not for an armed robbery. 
And yes, the gun was overkill but I can be a real drama queen sometimes.

The double scoop superman flavor ice cream landed right in your belly button as you struck the ground. Kind of a hard landing for someone as graceful looking as you are. 
But then again I bumped into you with the force of a man running from a crime scene. Mainly because that is exactly what I was doing.

So please stop beating yourself up for looking so ridiculous as you went careening backwards. No one there holds that against you. I certainly don't. 
Though maybe, and this is just a suggestion, you might wanna be more attentive to your surroundings. I mean,
I was robbing the place, at gun point, while you stood behind me oblivious and incessantly texting.

The lesson, and yes there is one, is that whoever is on the the other end of a phone can never pile drive you like the one right next to you. 
And fate brought you next to me. Also, lock your iphone.

You made an impression, thats for sure. A round dent in the ground kind. Not nearly as big an impression as the pavement made on the back of your melon but then again, 
I have those kind of effects on women. So to answer your question ---- I know you are just dying to ask is ---- yes [sigh], I will have sex with you. Thanks also for the phone. ; )

Hit me up and maybe we can go out for some ice cream.

N.

No looking back (Crash Kings)

How did it come to this?

The rain drops splattering my face awakened me and for a brief moment, I imagined all was well with the world. My world. Echo was next to me. 
The pitter patter of rain aroused a deep satisfaction residing quietly in my soul as she stirred naked and smelling of sweat, sex and fruity hair conditioner flopped across me in sleep filled contentment. 

But that was a sandcastle dream quickly disintegrating as water and gasoline now stung my eyes.
The rage didn't come full on, not all at once. Rather like the sensation of being burned seems to grow until it is all you feel. 

The reality was that my leg was pinned under an over turned vehicle and Echo lay nearby, motionless. Bleeding.

I summoned, what seemed to me at least, all the power invested in nature, god and the cosmos but the car didn't even budge. This cold, callous, indifferent, monster slumped over me. 
The rain continued to pelt the frame and the sound that would normally be relaxing now only gonged loudly in my brain like a clock ticking down.

Another vehicle lay mangled close by. Pan. His headlight beams were still on. The mangled streams of light pointed oddly into the sky revealing bands of wind tossed rain, rolling down.

I needed to free myself, kill Pan once and for all; for good goddammit and get Echo medical care. What if he survived and is coming to finish me off? 
The thought ushered in a another frantic round of exhausting pulling and pushing. Dizziness fell upon me as I pounded against the uncaring metal. 
My tears were indistinguishable from the droplets of water. My strength and time were running out. 

I had him. Dead to rights. The shot was clean and must have severed something important. Yes. That must be so--Right? 
The fight, the gun battle, the ensuing chase, Echo yelling at me to slow down, played like a loop, over and over in my tortured and slowly failing mind.
In moments like this, I wish to be anyone but me. The failure. The loser. The killer. Echo, I'm sorry.

The sound of a firing bolt retreating into a metallic chamber as a firing hammer is pulled back. Pan is above me but he is looking at Echo. My Echo. 
Water effortlessly glides down the barrel which is a foot away from my forehead. 

The fact that I'm writing this to you should have alerted you to the fact that Pan didn't fire. 
My punishment, it appears, was life. A life without her. A life spent on the run from Nemesis, the opposite of Echo. 

My provisional answer to your growing question of what became of Echo will be short. You don't deserve it. 
The failure of words to describe what transpired is necessary. To even attempt it is to immediately devalue it. 
The missed connection I suspect is forever hung like a wreath onto the doorway of my inner self. 

Granted, even the most blissfully mediocre among you will agree that it makes for a piss poor ending but you know the old saying, 
when you stare into the pool, the pool stares also into you. Besides, this story is far from over.

Narcissus

Onyx Slam (Bacdafucup)

I didn't want to write this ad.
No, not because I'm shy. More like now everyone will know I wasn't actually invited to any Derby parties. 

Sure, I understand completely the hesitance to request my presence. I mean last years fiasco was kinda my fault. Ok, maybe mostly. But how I was supposed to know public sex with a paraplegic was so frowned upon? What year is this? 18 fucking 13? The tang was great. No lie. In fact, I gave new meaning to the phrase "spinal tap". 
If I had friends, we would still be high five-ing. 

But humping the invalid right in front of the Kosair Childrens Hospital tent while flashing gang signs towards the in field was truly my undoing. 
I'm fairly certain she enjoyed it though we'll never know for sure. My intense pelvic thrusts crushed her joystick/keypad. 
(If your reading this girl, I still have your voice box. That things the bomb. No offense Bostonians). 

Or the year before when I got drunk with reporter John Boels. Started off with a hand job from Dawn Gee in a backside port-o-john but ended with John and I getting pulled over. Sure, John likes to say that sobered him up but I was there. And it wasn't the DUI that set him straight as much as the assault later in the drunk tank. Yep, nothing says maybe its time to get a 12 step program and reevaluate your life like a fisting from a hairy mexican who calls himself "Jackhammer Guitererrez". However, thats enough of fond memories.

So here I am, pushing a stolen 49cc scooter in the drizzle down Cane Run because its out of gas and I'm penniless having wagered all my dinero on a private bet with Black Onyx.

YES. Goddammit, I am well aware *now* that Black Onyx didn't even run as it scratched on Friday. What can I say, I've been on a bender since late Thursday (of 2006) and am just now piecing things together. 

Which brings me to this ad: To the cute gal who I met while mud sliding and who then, apparently, lifted my debit card while I was vomiting next to Emelio Estevez in the bushes somewhere around Wathen lane, please (and I mean this sincerely) go fuck yourself. Ha! The jokes on you because I stole that card earlier from an elderly guy who said his name was Tiki Barber. May you get anally probed by the entire Jockey clubhouse and cunt punted back to whatever sewage drain spawned you. Or... if your willing, maybe we could hook up, have an ice cream and take the kids to the chow wagon. I have this cool ass voice box...
Your call.

N.