Orange Street Girls
I was walking a lady home a few weeks ago. Big Eyes and I crossed the main road and entered the dimly lit residential part of this upper middle class town. We were walking along side one hundred year old properties whose value is at least a half million dollars. On the short stroll with this tiny lady, we stopped a few time, each time, I would lean in for a kiss only to stop by her lips for her to come the rest of the way. She was able to resist a few times, and that space between her lips and my lips, between her big eyes and my lusty stare, felt so refreshing. In that small mass of dark matter between us grew a sweet amount of doubt, which was so much to the contrary of the ritualisms I have develop in the few years since you. Finally, in the dead center of a four way intersection, Her lips and mine met softly and briefly. We pulled away barely. I looked into that now extra sensitive space between us, and said “I bet you live on Orange Street.”
I could see her wondering how the hell I could possibly know what street she lived on. I was trashed, but she may have said something about me being a stalker. I met her through Raga. Who likes to tell people about what happened with you and I. I am not sure if she knows how much sexier it makes me seem to women. Ga, in the middle of all her drama, confessed her fantasy for a man to break in and force himself on her with a knife. I told her we could do it, but I would have to have everything in writing considering my troubles with the law.
But Big Eyes was wrong. I had not sought any extra information on her. I merely sleuthed it out of experience. Over the years, many of my trysts had brought me up to Orange Street, including ours. After reflecting on this pattern, I realized that it was actually pretty simple as to why. Most of the housing affordable enough for a girl in her mid twenties was located there. It is only if you look deep into the threading of the pattern that makes up an Orange Street girl that the strenuousness of the labored stitching can be seen. The sadness that an Orange street girl has to weave together in order to make her face in the mirror every morning has not yet been properly entered into our history books.
The difficulties of the women of my generation are very unfortunate. These poor beautiful woman left to fend for themselves. With no concrete excuses left, they leave home so they can met interesting men, drink, and dance the nights away in an artificial metropolitan like setting. I am truly unnerved by the stars in the eyes of a young woman, but I know that it is more unfortunate if they are without that shiny bits of hope. The absence of which means she looked out into the world and it looked back. I know that there are at least five bars in between Orange street and the bar where I work . I know that these girls have usually lived in town for a year or two by the time they walk into my joint to find me, perhaps the last interesting man in town that she has yet to have a run in with.
The one and only time you and I smoked weed together was on that dastardly over night in the mountains. We were out hiking on a man made trail and we stopped to smoke a joint. I tried to impress you by knowing where north was based on the sun’s position while you looked at a compass on your phone. You faked excitement when I got it right. I then asked you that if we ended up getting lost in these woods for a few days, do you think we could survive? You really did not engage much in that conversation, but it lead me to point out something that I thought to be profound. I pointed out that where there is life there is always a water source. You continued to not give a shit.
I later found that same evolutionary need hidden behind the threading of these Orange street girls. More than she needs water, she needs to dream. She needs interesting men with interesting stories. She needs drugs, and she needs alcohol. She need to pretend that she is free to dance away her independence in her artificial metropolis. I could feel this need as Big Eyes gently utters “No” as she lowered herself onto my hopeful cock.