"trouble"
written in high school french class, circa 1994

Once again it's raining in the city and I find myself wondering through its wet streets.  A fine mist falls through the air and collects on flashing neon signs that read "Live Nude Girls" and "Triple X". They cast an eerie glow that awakens an appetite for some trouble. I pass by a broken-down strip joint and get stopped by what appears to be one of the dancers. "You look lonely..." she says with slurred speech. She falls toward me, groping hands spread wide. "Why don't you come inside, baby?" she tempts. For a split second I consider the offer.  The neon sign above our heads flashes with a buzz and casts that eerie red glow upon us. In the glow I catch a glimpse of her hand in my jacket pocket, counting my money. I push her away and she flies into the rapidly opening door of the joint, cracking her polycarbonate skull open. Circuitry and loose wires spill from the gash onto the wet pavement with a sizzle. Never could tell the difference between a third-generation gyneomorphic android and a drunk stripper. . .

The owner of the joint steps out to meet me. The neon flashes over his five-foot two-inch by three-foot four-inch body and lights up the sweat on his greasy face like Christmas lights. "Ya know how much that bitch cost me, asshole?" he belches. I pull out my piece and put its chrome barrel against his forehead. "Watch your language," I say as I pull the trigger and blast him into a smoking pile of flesh reeking of pork meat. I move on.

I pass a cigarette machine and opt for a pack of Marlboro Greens. I stop at the end of a dark alley nearby and take a drag. "Lookin' for trouble?" a voice says from behind. I spin and stare into the darkness "Looks like trouble found me. . ." I answer as I finger the handle of sidearm underneath my mylar trench coat. "You'll have no need for that," whispers a pair of lips in my ear as a hand reaches out of nowhere and makes my gun disappear. I turn my head towards the whispers and catch a glimpse of a man standing in front of me out of the corner of my eye. I look forward at him. His sharp many-toothed grin and vacant white eyes stare back at me and into my soul. "I'm trouble."

© 2008 Dustin Driver