Walmart

On a weekend visiting some friends on the Island I meet a girl  at
a Walmart in Jersey where I stop to pick up a computer  accessory. 
The ceilings are skyhigh.  It's a new style for them,  an  immense
nofrills  industrial  warehouse,  broad shelving crammed  full  of 
merchandise right to the top,  and what I'm looking for is a mouse
for my laptop which is smaller than most of the items so it  takes 
me  a  while.  There's no staff in sight but she's a  regular  and
leads me to the right spot without delay. 

We go out the back way.  The road is gravel with no sidewalks,  by
empty  lots  in building rubble,  like the place was  cleared  for 
development.  When we get to her car I see she's young and  a  bit
chubby.  It's a '56 Pontiac coupe brandnew.  When she shows it  to 
me,  in her pleated skirt, filled sweater and saddle brown oxfords
I can see she's a girl who has everything. 

Looking around,  only one building remains, an old brownstone with
blank brick walls facing just empty lots on either side.  A  white 
frame addition with windows all around,  like somebody's idea of a
sunroom,  is  built over the steps in front so you can't  see  the 
decorative  stone and iron filagree railings.  It's in bad  shape,
but has promise and I consider buying it and moving there.
  
I tell her I'm living Upstate now.  My Dad has a business  meeting
in Scarsdale and maybe I can catch up with him.  She tells me  the 
road I'm looking for is just a few blocks away, a straight shot to
the L.I.E.  and I'm relieved to hear this.  As I appear unsure  of 
myself she offers to help me find my car.

It's a Peugeot XP sedan.  I have others.  The dealer got me an SW8
to replace the one I lost.  When we get there I see a red car  but 
it's not it. At this hour the immense parking is empty with bright
blue  lights on poles.  Three security guards show up and  I  tell
them my  problem.

I  wake  up in an untidy white room in one of  those  massproduced
steel tubing Simmons mattress beds from the 20's. The scrap dealer 
won't offer much for the old machinery I show him. Without getting
up I can see out the big plate glass window.  Street numbers stuck 
on it were spray painted aluminum color and the overspray left  an
impression. The old International is OK in the parking lot where I
left it.

Two cleaning ladies come into the room and I'm the last person  to
get  up.  Embarassed and annoyed I see there are still  people  in 
the bed. Complaining I tell them about it. Two girls are folded up
together one against the other asleep like they're dead. Breakfast
is   included  but  as it's late the coffee is  leftover  and  the
kitchen is closed.  I don't say anything as I'm happy to be out of
there.

Her mind is on something sensational from the rack at checkout and
she  looks  up only after I've already gotten in the  seat  beside
her.  She moves close looks up and brushes at me with her face and
hair.  The scrap dealer who controls the market is a  good  friend
with whom she has considerable influence.  She tells me she  wants
to make sure I don't get away from her again and she opens the top
buttons of her blouse.  I put my hand between her knees which  she
moves enabling me to reach in and pleasure her. Neither of us have
had breakfast.

We take a table at the fastfood franchise and I go get the  stuff.
Looking back I see she's brought along her lurid reading material.
We  sit close together so we can speak over the noise  and  bustle
from the line of checkout stations. She'll meet me tonight at  the
Optometrist  store as there are comfortable chairs there  and  she
doesn't  mind waiting.  The story is team rape in the boys  locker
room at nearby Secaucus High.  I remind her to speak to the  scrap
dealer for me about the machinery.

Jay NY 12/8/09