Notes. From the Upper West Side. A novel by Dan Wrench. Chapter 36.
Like on a farm. The story about Ramon and the butt-pugs got me thinking that, yeah, Cynthia could be just what Paulie needs on the side. Shit, I didn't think about Cammy once during that whole walk of 9th Avenue. We walked past a big theatrical hardware store in Boom, right next to it as her brick apartment building five steps up off the street.
Oh my god, I got to crap. She said as she yanked the keys out of that tight little pocket in those tight little pants. We went through the first door into a tiny vestibule and then threw another door on the other side. But as she worked the locks, I noticed she wasn't urgent, you know?
Like somebody who was afraid she was about to load into her pants. In fact, she said I got the crap kind of lone breathy, like it was supposed to make my heart on harder. She looked at me and licked her lips and started working the lock on the first door on the left. Wow, I said, ground floor front.
She stared in my face until I stared back. I crapped big. She said, like on a farm. I giggle cackled.
It was a reflex, but a big exclamation point was taking over my brain. She grinned at me and opened the door. I followed her in. Right in the middle of the room was a big black metal dumbbell and some sneakers that I tripped over.
Oh, those are my boyfriends. Don't worry, he in LA. Your boyfriends? Yeah, don't worry though, he gone all week.
She rubbed her ass and went at me, but at no time did she move for the bathroom. I don't know though, I said, you didn't say you had a boyfriend. When you didn't ask Papi Sito and why you care, he don't care? It's part of the code.
She broke out last time. The code? You married and you're gonna lick my holes for me. Still, it's a guy thing.
Ugh, she said, get out. I almost ran the two blocks to the subway. On the train there were seats, but I couldn't sit. I just leaned against the door and looked at my reflection in the glass of the door across from me.
Then out of nowhere, I shivered like I'd shaken hands with dumber. Notes from the Upper West Side is a work of fiction. The people depicted in this work do not exist. Notes from the Upper West Side, copyright 2013 to 2016 by Dan Rich.