"Welcome to the wonderful world of hop-scotching-hubapalooza! A land filled with fascinating creatures and exhilarating adventures! Explore the ravenous seven seas of solitude while excavating the extraordinary enigmas of the deep blue sea! Ratify rambunctious ravens as you intertwine inexhaustible instincts with inglorious gumption! Obliterate oblong obstacles as you atrophy agnostic anomalies! Bundle bewildering blasphemy as you cultivate convoluted constructions! Act now or never! Buy your ticket today, or forever wallow in the wallowing weeps of cowardly courage! Hurry, times waiting for no one!"
The boy and the girl glance at each other with the forlorn anticipation of a child's first birthday. Hoping, wishing, but not truly understanding. The room is small, the house not much more, resting upon hard, infertile soil handed over by a generation of foolish investors and poor workers. The roof is a slick silicon red with bumps and bruises from years of wear and centuries of tear. Below the solemn roof rests a plump one story catastrophe, with long stained siding and cheap cracked windows.
The winters are cold and the summers are hot. The people are nice and the strangers are friendly. No one who lives here nor there much cares for the town, but everyone is far too proud to leave the humble civilization. The boy and the girl who preside in the broken home are past lovers long fallen out of romantic tendencies, experimenting with contempt instead of care, envy without forgiveness.
The experiment is a long time failed escapade, but neither the girl nor the boy will admit such a travesty. Whether it's pride or shyness or some other trait neither knows nor pretends to care. The only truth which succumbs to their ignorant understanding is the fact that something is wrong and there's nothing they can do to fix it.
"Do you want to...I mean...maybe..." The girl stumbles in a raspy but sweet tone.
"I mean...I think..." The boy responds hesitantly.
"Really?"
"Really."
So it is decided.
The next day the boy and the girl escape their meager abode for the luxuries of a small town long turned impoverished. The town is not by any means much, but compared to their meager understanding of the world, the town is everything. Stretching a block long in four hesitant directions, the town bounds with fading facades and broken signs pursuing the exterior, a once glorious courthouse sitting center stage awaiting forgotten glory confided hundred years ago.
The boy and the girl smile at their fortune, for the sun is bright and the day is a warm, a rare occurrence in the late month of the year. The car is parked some 100 feet away from the square, for the square itself is bustling with ravaged trucks and unkempt mistresses. The boy doesn't mind the walk and if the girl does, she doesn't much care to mention.
Once fifth street is conquered, they round a corner just west of the courthouse, and come to a large glass pane cleaned daily by the old man who once owned the pharmacy. While the old man never technically sold the pharmacy, it was agreed upon by the citizens of the town that the mayor should run the pharmacy, seeing that the old man had no sons nor daughters of his own and could drop dead at a minutes notice. Of course, the old man was enraged by such a verdict, but took no time to complain, and instead set about cleaning the old glass panes of the pharmacy, not once asking for a wage or compensation or even a license to work.
Not a single soul is brave enough to confess the fact that the pharmacy is now a bustling whore house with a small, discreet, drug dealing diversion below. Everyone whose anyone knows of the whores, but few give much notice. Actually, many of the town's people entertain the whores, men and woman alike, exploring devilish fantasies and filthy dreams. There is little judgement to those who enter the house, and even less to those who work in the home. To the town's people, a whore is a fine profession, and even a well sought after position, and thus only the smartest and wittiest of girls are given the opportunity to audition.
Luckily for the girl, she's extraordinarily intelligent and devilishly witty. Of course, if asked, she'd surely deny such a thing, insisting with the kind courtesy only a Midwestern can contain that her intelligence is nothing more than the hard work of education and an abundance of free time.
This, of course, could not be further from the truth, for the girl is busier than any other occupant of the town, for she owns both the pharmacy and the town law office, and also works as a whore in the house.
Many men would feel emasculated by such a horrid combination of professions, but the boy is no man. This is not to say the boy is young in age, for he has certainly served his time as a dutiful citizen, even serving in the local military for a few years after high school.
The boy and the girl are equal in age, about 32, but not a human in the galaxy would predict such a number. By the look of their faces and the smiles upon their lips, you'd be foolish to guess any age above nineteen, and so they are often pressed to confess their real age, especially for the consumption of alcohol.
But the couple insists they would never lie about such a silly thing as time, and so the town concurs, for there is no way to prove another verdict. Furthermore, the town people fear if one were to push the truth, the couple would become frightened and escape the small town, never to see the people nor it's businesses again.
This would be a disaster for the people, for the boy and the girl are perhaps the two most prominent citizens in the town. While the girl owns the law office and pharmacy and works as a whore, the boy runs the courthouse and cares for town matters and assures everything stays just as it is.
This the people truly admire, for there is nothing the town's people despise more than change. Change of scenery, change of people, even change of weather. Monotony is the norm of the town, and the people plan to keep it that way for as long as humanly possible. To those who say change is inevitable the town says good riddance and off you go never to see another soul in the town again. So it is wise to keep any opinion other than the opinion previous believed to oneself and never speak of such dastardly possibilities.
Though the boy is not a mayor in any sense of the word, he is in any sense of action. The people respect him as a politician, the whores listen to his laws and even the mayor abides by his decisions. He does not hold any title of value, nor is he compensated much for his work, but abides by the fate of destiny and rules the town with a soft and gentle grip.
His views are hard on crime and soft on prisoners, never imprisoning anyone more than necessary, which, according to the boy, who also acts as judge, is no more than a year. Though these prosecutions were first seen as weak and then ridiculous, the town no longer mocks the boy.
The reform program is the greatest success of the small town and even the most despicable of criminals are coming to terms with the small town laws. How he does this no one know, other than the warden, who is said to be his long lost lover.
Of course, a woman warden is an odd position and one not often taken, but the boy saw it as necessary. To the boy, only a woman could stop the corruption of torture and the imprisonment of false rehabilitation. Why the boy didn't pick his own girl is a source of serious gossip, and each town-person comes with their own respectable reason.
Some say the boy is in love with the woman. Some say the boy pity's the woman. Some say the woman is a long lost friend. Some say the woman is secretly his daughter.
Whatever the reason, the town doesn't prod. Though they gossip and whisper and fathom false truths, not a single soul dares to attempt insult. The boy means everything to the town, and the woman is a rather fine addition. Plus, no one can care for the pharmacy like the girl, and no whore is as good as she.
The town accepts them as a package deal and does nothing to intrude upon their ever failing relationship. The town dares not even gossip over their long held belief that the couple will finally break, for fear of some retaliation from the boy or the girl or both. The town simply keeps to itself and the people say little to nothing on the topic, though it is always lurking in the catacombs of even the dullest's mind.
What will happen when they terminate their once loving contract? The people dare not speculate. The few citizens of the town fear the end of such an endeavor and do everything in their meager power to ensure the two never spend more than a day's time apart. Whether this adds any value to the relationship they do not know, nor do they care. As long as they live together and stay together nothing else really matters.
The girl nods to the old man and the boy says hello, striking a quaint conversation as the girl enters the pharmacy. The girl walks past the three stout aisles and across the open hall go the stairs, when a queer thought rolls through her troubled mind. "Did he really want to go?" The girl whispers to no one in particular, ignoring the young clerk and his whore who is said to soon be his wife. "And if he does want to go, will he want to go with me?"
The girl is bothered by these questions, for the girl is well aware of the affair between the boy and his mistress. It is not that she much cares of the infidelity or sex or any of that, she understand that a man has needs, and as a whore, her job differs little. That is not what bothers her.
What strikes her as terrifying is the idea he has sold his mind to this unknown mistress. It is one thing to sell your body, but another thing entirely to sell your mind.
To sell your mind is to give in to the manipulation and seduction that is true love and to accept the belief that you can be happy with one individual and one individual only. Though the girl rarely tells the boy, she truly and deeply loves him, and would be devastated to know the boy loved anyone other than her, even if his reasons were completely logical.
As the girl heads up the stairs the boy enters the pharmacy, searching the three short rows before approaching the clerk and his whore opposite of the door. He smiles at the boy, slaps the whore on her ass, and asks "What's new?"
The clerk says "Not much," but blushes as the boy ogles at the whore, knowing damn sure that they are soon to acquire a business transaction. To distract himself from the thought of losing his love to a man the clerk knows he can never compare, the clerk adds "We got those tickets from the city today. The one from that commercial. That hubapoolza thing or whatever."
"Really?" The boy inquires with new found interest, ignoring the whore for the first time that day. The boy wonders what the girl would say if he bought the tickets. He wonders if she'd jump for joy or slap him hard across his weary cheeks. He wonders if she'd throw him in the gutter and insist he go sleep with that slut of a mistress.
The boy knows the girl knows about the mistress, but the boy doesn't much care. What he really fears is the idea that she doesn't love him like he loves her, for he truly and deeply loves her. Though he would never dare say a word, he could never love another soul like he loves her.
Sure, like the girl, he sleeps with many and fucks many more, but has only ever made love to one and can never make love to another in a similar manner. Though the boy wishes the girl felt the same way, he knows she doesn't, and thus spends his time fucking whores and blabbing to his mistress, all the time blubbering in the privacy of his town office. The boy wants nothing more than to love the girl, but knows she is long past any sense of love.
As the girl reaches the top step, she pauses to say hello to the late shift whores. As it is, there are two shifts for the whores, morning and night. The night whores acquire more business, but thus have to endure many more gentlemen. The day whores receive many less, but many of the few are losers and ugly, and thus have to endure much worse encounters. While there are many reasons to be a morning whore or a night whore, the girl is always a morning whore, for she enjoys the lethargic days and the few men she has to fuck.
She doesn't necessarily enjoy the experience, but she doesn't mind it either. Being a whore gives the girl time to think and wonder without really having to do anything. As long as she lays down and moans and says a few slutty words every now and then, she can do as she pleases.
So she says hello to her first guest and begins to undress, first her sweater then her bra, next her panties and then her socks. The skirt stays on for that is the man's desire, and so she pulls him to a dark dingy room where a naked woman and her dazed customer have just escaped.
The boy is still downstairs and begins to wince as he hears the moans of his once star crossed lover. Though he fucks many girls himself and accepts she too must fuck many guys, he never can get over the moaning. His fear is not she'll fuck every guy in town or every girl in the world or every living thing to have ever been. His fear is not men will hit her and call her slutty names and fall deeply in love with her injudicious ways. He fears none of these things for he knows them to be inevitable.
What he truly fears is the day those moans are no longer just whimpers of requirement but sighs of relief as the girl finally finds the man she's always been looking for. He knows he's not that man and he knows he never will be, yet still he tries.
Floundered by the inexhaustible rules of love, the boy often fails on this front. Though flowers and chocolates always seem to deter abhorrence, they never seem enough. His languid memory and haphazardly spending has put them in a position which neither can fathom as palatable. No matter what he says nor what he does, he can never be forgiven for the forgotten holidays and never remembered anniversaries.
The boy feels unendurably guilty for his blunders and apologizes on more than daily basis. But the apologies have become weak and the sorrow has become hallow. To the boy, there is nothing else to be done. He simply accepts things as they are and hopes that one day a miracle will come by his side and save him from this tragedy that is forgotten love.
The moans become louder as the whore again begins to flirt with the clerk, a ravenous rush of exhilaration more than lust exuding from two sets of hungry eyes. The moans continue longer and louder and soon unbearable to only the boy, and begins to writhe. The clerk takes little notice and soon the boy is up the stairs, three at a time, hands wrenched at the sound of shaking beds.
The girl moans. Louder. Louder. Louder. The man keeps begging for more. More. More. Caught in the moment she writhes with frivolous delight, climaxing for the first time in months. Another loud moan, this one of real pleasure, not mocking joy.
The girl hears the door creak as the man lays by her side, heavily breathing after a job well done. She soothes the next guest with tantalizing words and a call for his body, but the man refuses. Suddenly conscious of her looks, she pushes the man beside off her bed to another room or another house or another town or another world. Anywhere but here. She is inexplicably furious.
The man rushes away and pushes the dark silhouette to his side, but the silhouette offers no complaint. The sound of crunching paper heaves with the might of anguish as the girl suddenly becomes frightened with disdain. Something inside her tells her not to say another word.
The boy shuffles forward.
Eyes gleam down in suddenly shy embarrassment, the boy begins to mumble as the girl quickly covers her bare boned body with never cleaned sheets, ashamed of a deed she never fathomed as harmful. She aches to hear his words but no amount of patience will abide. The boy holds up two tickets and stretches a long, lonesome glance.
"I don't know if you wanted to...well...I don't know if..." The boy blunders.
"I do." The girl swoons.
"You do?"
"If it's with you."
The boy smiles, the girl glances with glee. Not a word is said, but all is spoken.