OR Freebird
08-21-2005, 07:48 PM
Mike Howe - Private High
Bluntridge, New York. A seedy little town now gone completely to pot. In a nutshell, Bluntridge was all ??crack?ed up as can be.
A tiny beam of light streams thru a hole in the cheap, paper-thin, roll-down shade guarding the privacy of the decrepit Canwee, Smokum & Howe Detective agency. It shines through the haze of dust and stale smoke directly onto the bloodshot eye of a disheveled, unshaven man smelling of Wacky Tobbacky and cheap wine. His head lays face down on the desk.
Roaches, cannabis crumbs, cocaine, and some cheap wine bottles lay scattered about the desk, like confetti around Mike Tyson in his prime. Except it??s not Mike Tyson, its Howe, Mike Howe ?? Private High. He can take it from here.
I must look like hell I thought as I peeled my face off the desk. Stems and seeds stuck to my cheek fall to the desk in a steady drizzle. I raise my head and snap to a semi-conscious, yet fully-semi-alert state. Fine tuning the focus takes a few seconds more.
The golden silence of a perfectly wasted morning was shattered by the rat-a-tat-tat of what could only be an incredibly lovely woman knocking on my office door. I wipe the coke from my nose and onto my cheek with my forearm ?? and open the door.
She was a stunning girl of color. Creamy brown skin with shade-your-eyes bright red, shoulder length hair on top and legs long enough for three girls. Yeah, she was definitely packing some big juicy buds, if you know what I mean.
??Mr. Howe, my name is Sm?ka ?? Sm?ka Numbah, and I need you?, she cried ? interrupting my fantasy, ??It??s Panama Red ?? he stole my woman, then he robbed my head!?
My mouth snapped closed and my brain kicked into overdrive. ??What the f*%k is she talking about?? I thought while I fantasized about her smoking my pipe.
I slowly Zig-Zag©ed back to my desk and grabbed a slug from the cup of coffee I??d left there the night before. It was corpse cold and full of ashes, roaches, and soggy cigarette butts -- instant awareness I like to call it. My brain redoubled its meager effort as I started making some fresh hempen java.
??Excuse me miss, but ain??t you a chick?? I asked as I rolled her statement around in the muck of my mind. ??I thought you said Panama Red stole your WOMAN? and THEN he robbed your head?
??I did?, she said, looking so sultry I could feel her dripping down my leg ??I??m a lesbian. Panama Red ran off with my girl, Mary Jane?
I drooped ?? emotionally that is ?? and as I wilted my mind once again focused on the matter at hand ?? lesbian sandwiches.
?Can you describe her?? I slurred, my tongue momentarily stuck to the roof of my mouth much the same way a pastie sticks to a nipple.
??Mary Jane, she??s my best bud. She smells like sugar but packs a wallop like a bear. She got the reddest hairs on her head that you done ever seen on a human ?? the reddest eyes too, now that I think about it?
??And this Panama Red guy?? my brow crinkled like the wrapper on a Nestle Crunch bar ?? something smelled skunky here.
??I can??t really say. He rode into town on his white horse Mescalito ?? and next thing I knew Mary Jane was up in bed with old Panama Red. And it??s not just her ? EVERYBODY's gettin' crazy; fallin' out `n' hangin' round now that Panama Red is back in town!?
??Hey lady -- do you have any idea where this guy may be?? the question formed at much the same speed as the Egyptians built the Pyramids.
She looked at me quizzically, as if I was high or something, and then smiled realizing I probably was. With a voice like Blueberry Haze she whispered breezily, ??You just don't know when Red's in town, he keeps well hidden underground. Do you think you can help me, red-eye master ? please??
It sounded familiar, way too familiar, like a song that gets stuck playing in your brain. Red, Red-eye, Redheads, Panama Red ?? Commies ?? Reds ?? Cincinnati ?? wait, where was I going with this? ?
??I??ll help, but first things first. Work is good, and work is fine, but first take care of head. After this coffee and a blunt I'll start searchin' all the joints in town for Panama Red.? I muttered as I sank my head deep into a sink full of ice water, grimacing at the thought of a full days work. Where the hell were Canwee & Smokum anywho? Damned lightweights.
The buxom redhead exclaimed, "Hey Pedro, you're actin' crazy like a clown. But I??m still so glad you can take this job because nobody else feels like workin' when Panama Red is back in town.?
??Her head is still there ?? I thought lazily though the slowly lifting morning haze, ??I think she may have only lost her woman ?? or perhaps her mind. And who the hell is Pedro??
Did I say that out loud? Crap
Bluntridge, New York. A seedy little town now gone completely to pot. In a nutshell, Bluntridge was all ??crack?ed up as can be.
A tiny beam of light streams thru a hole in the cheap, paper-thin, roll-down shade guarding the privacy of the decrepit Canwee, Smokum & Howe Detective agency. It shines through the haze of dust and stale smoke directly onto the bloodshot eye of a disheveled, unshaven man smelling of Wacky Tobbacky and cheap wine. His head lays face down on the desk.
Roaches, cannabis crumbs, cocaine, and some cheap wine bottles lay scattered about the desk, like confetti around Mike Tyson in his prime. Except it??s not Mike Tyson, its Howe, Mike Howe ?? Private High. He can take it from here.
I must look like hell I thought as I peeled my face off the desk. Stems and seeds stuck to my cheek fall to the desk in a steady drizzle. I raise my head and snap to a semi-conscious, yet fully-semi-alert state. Fine tuning the focus takes a few seconds more.
The golden silence of a perfectly wasted morning was shattered by the rat-a-tat-tat of what could only be an incredibly lovely woman knocking on my office door. I wipe the coke from my nose and onto my cheek with my forearm ?? and open the door.
She was a stunning girl of color. Creamy brown skin with shade-your-eyes bright red, shoulder length hair on top and legs long enough for three girls. Yeah, she was definitely packing some big juicy buds, if you know what I mean.
??Mr. Howe, my name is Sm?ka ?? Sm?ka Numbah, and I need you?, she cried ? interrupting my fantasy, ??It??s Panama Red ?? he stole my woman, then he robbed my head!?
My mouth snapped closed and my brain kicked into overdrive. ??What the f*%k is she talking about?? I thought while I fantasized about her smoking my pipe.
I slowly Zig-Zag©ed back to my desk and grabbed a slug from the cup of coffee I??d left there the night before. It was corpse cold and full of ashes, roaches, and soggy cigarette butts -- instant awareness I like to call it. My brain redoubled its meager effort as I started making some fresh hempen java.
??Excuse me miss, but ain??t you a chick?? I asked as I rolled her statement around in the muck of my mind. ??I thought you said Panama Red stole your WOMAN? and THEN he robbed your head?
??I did?, she said, looking so sultry I could feel her dripping down my leg ??I??m a lesbian. Panama Red ran off with my girl, Mary Jane?
I drooped ?? emotionally that is ?? and as I wilted my mind once again focused on the matter at hand ?? lesbian sandwiches.
?Can you describe her?? I slurred, my tongue momentarily stuck to the roof of my mouth much the same way a pastie sticks to a nipple.
??Mary Jane, she??s my best bud. She smells like sugar but packs a wallop like a bear. She got the reddest hairs on her head that you done ever seen on a human ?? the reddest eyes too, now that I think about it?
??And this Panama Red guy?? my brow crinkled like the wrapper on a Nestle Crunch bar ?? something smelled skunky here.
??I can??t really say. He rode into town on his white horse Mescalito ?? and next thing I knew Mary Jane was up in bed with old Panama Red. And it??s not just her ? EVERYBODY's gettin' crazy; fallin' out `n' hangin' round now that Panama Red is back in town!?
??Hey lady -- do you have any idea where this guy may be?? the question formed at much the same speed as the Egyptians built the Pyramids.
She looked at me quizzically, as if I was high or something, and then smiled realizing I probably was. With a voice like Blueberry Haze she whispered breezily, ??You just don't know when Red's in town, he keeps well hidden underground. Do you think you can help me, red-eye master ? please??
It sounded familiar, way too familiar, like a song that gets stuck playing in your brain. Red, Red-eye, Redheads, Panama Red ?? Commies ?? Reds ?? Cincinnati ?? wait, where was I going with this? ?
??I??ll help, but first things first. Work is good, and work is fine, but first take care of head. After this coffee and a blunt I'll start searchin' all the joints in town for Panama Red.? I muttered as I sank my head deep into a sink full of ice water, grimacing at the thought of a full days work. Where the hell were Canwee & Smokum anywho? Damned lightweights.
The buxom redhead exclaimed, "Hey Pedro, you're actin' crazy like a clown. But I??m still so glad you can take this job because nobody else feels like workin' when Panama Red is back in town.?
??Her head is still there ?? I thought lazily though the slowly lifting morning haze, ??I think she may have only lost her woman ?? or perhaps her mind. And who the hell is Pedro??
Did I say that out loud? Crap