soapboxdiner

Recess at the Playhouse

Does anyone out there remember this:

Rick walked out of the room he had stood in, eager-eyed but foot-weary, since 5 p.m. that evening. It had been so for as long as he could remember, but not so long as to diminish his plans to grow in importance in the world. Oh, he had plans, man. He would soon be Speedo-clad and appropriately nouveau riche lounging lazily on the sun plains of a Bermuda pool deck before he was done. All he needed had been formulating in his mind since the beginning of his time, and all Rick needed was a little more time and luck.

He pushed his way past the straggling and staggering last human dregs he�d finally convinced that Closing Time meant leave, and absently turned the key in the lock that would make Closing Time official. He stood then, for a moment, under the flickering neon sign of the retched "Blue Moon Bar & Grill" and shook out a Camel from his pack. There could be no other outcome; he knew a smart man such as himself and one oozing such charm and wit could only succeed in his plans.

Exhaling the lighter fluid-flavored first drag of his smoke, he quickly stomped past the blinking fluorescent lights of the 24-hour sex shops and dank hole in the wall convenient marts that littered the neighborhood of the bar. Disdainfully he brushed away the stiletto-teetering whores raunchily calling out for his attention, and ignored the guerilla goon pimps leaning in the doorways in groups. They were his people, though he�d never admit that his craftiness was born from the same dirty desperation as their's. They were weak and content to remain small minded, whereas he was a man of vision.

He thought instead about his target. He'd been watching her climb in and out of golf carts at the country club, watching her tennis dress flash glimpses of her sinewy thighs as she parried the ball back across the net in sure, powerful strokes. She was the one, he was sure. The blonde with the tailored business suits and air of subdued, frustrated sexuality transmuted into savvy tunnel-visioned career woman. A woman like her would be too distracted with her own agendas to think too long about what he had in mind for her. He�d rock her world until he got what he wanted, and maybe if she was lucky and he felt generous, he�d give her some good loving before he took off with all her money. Rick smiled.

No? Well, I suppose only one soul on Diaryland besides myself should know it.

Do you know what the preceeding is, dear reader? It is a project. It is a collaborative Choose Your Own Adventure, of sorts. Only, it is supposed to have a plurality of authors. Currently, that group would safely fit in a room with a fire code maximum limit of... ONE.

Anyone game? Want to play along - write the next chapter from which the next poor sap will have to follow?

9:50 am - 12.14.02
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