Post by Sandy Coconutz on Jun 10, 2019 1:58:16 GMT -5
Saturns Club. Sacramento, CA.
:: Saturns was known for that Hypno-E-sex-tronica music. Ya girl was on the twist up with the slit up. I was free as a bird, grinding up on the DJ as he spins the tracks. Drink in each hand. Sip. sip. A girl has a thirst to quench but my lips were twitching and needed a drag. I slip off the tip and head towards the door. ::
Sandy Coconutz: Brickson, I need a smoke.
Brickson: Alright babygurl, don’t you stray too far now.
Sandy Coconutz: Nah, not like last time.
:: I walk out of the club, taking a purple bic out of my purse. The sparking flint struggles to catch but finally ignites. Mama needs her Newport. Inhale, hold. Release. The smoke dances in the street light. My heart is envious. It wanted to dance too. It wanted to be free. I turn and kick at all the signs stapled to the telephone pole.
Effin Rager. Havoc Rumble. Fuck those guys. What don’t I have? ::
Sandy Coconutz: Why don’t you fucking love me?
UGH! URRGHH!!!
:: Ya girl just wants to scream. ::
Brickson: Ho there, babygurl, you alright?
Sandy Coconutz: Brickson - I - ugh, I.D.K.
Brickson: Ya sad ‘bout that wrastlin ting, arnt chu?
:: Enter sobbing Boo-boo face. ::
Brickson: So why don’t you go do it?
Sandy Coconutz: Cuz Jareds a skank hoe and he won’t even return my calls.
Brickson: Pftt, Jared? That skank hoe? Nah babygurl. Fah real, some promoter was down here just the other day looking for female talent. You wernt here but they left me a card for you. Said that they were Alpha wrestling or some jazz. Some white folk, kinda name.
:: Brickson reaches in his pocket and hands me the card. ::
Brickson: You might as well call them if you’re unhappy. Doe, I don’t see how you could be with all the clubbin that you do. Plus all those college tours. Why do you wanna go get your pretty face all beat up like that?
Sandy Coconutz: Its the competitive gymnast in me, Brickson. I just gotta do it some times. And now is one of those times.
Brickson: Well, you do you, babygirl and you see how it goes.
Sandy Coconutz: Thanks, B. Believe. Ya. Girl.
Brickson: Trus me, I dew.
:: Saturns was known for that Hypno-E-sex-tronica music. Ya girl was on the twist up with the slit up. I was free as a bird, grinding up on the DJ as he spins the tracks. Drink in each hand. Sip. sip. A girl has a thirst to quench but my lips were twitching and needed a drag. I slip off the tip and head towards the door. ::
Sandy Coconutz: Brickson, I need a smoke.
Brickson: Alright babygurl, don’t you stray too far now.
Sandy Coconutz: Nah, not like last time.
:: I walk out of the club, taking a purple bic out of my purse. The sparking flint struggles to catch but finally ignites. Mama needs her Newport. Inhale, hold. Release. The smoke dances in the street light. My heart is envious. It wanted to dance too. It wanted to be free. I turn and kick at all the signs stapled to the telephone pole.
Effin Rager. Havoc Rumble. Fuck those guys. What don’t I have? ::
Sandy Coconutz: Why don’t you fucking love me?
UGH! URRGHH!!!
:: Ya girl just wants to scream. ::
Brickson: Ho there, babygurl, you alright?
Sandy Coconutz: Brickson - I - ugh, I.D.K.
Brickson: Ya sad ‘bout that wrastlin ting, arnt chu?
:: Enter sobbing Boo-boo face. ::
Brickson: So why don’t you go do it?
Sandy Coconutz: Cuz Jareds a skank hoe and he won’t even return my calls.
Brickson: Pftt, Jared? That skank hoe? Nah babygurl. Fah real, some promoter was down here just the other day looking for female talent. You wernt here but they left me a card for you. Said that they were Alpha wrestling or some jazz. Some white folk, kinda name.
:: Brickson reaches in his pocket and hands me the card. ::
Brickson: You might as well call them if you’re unhappy. Doe, I don’t see how you could be with all the clubbin that you do. Plus all those college tours. Why do you wanna go get your pretty face all beat up like that?
Sandy Coconutz: Its the competitive gymnast in me, Brickson. I just gotta do it some times. And now is one of those times.
Brickson: Well, you do you, babygirl and you see how it goes.
Sandy Coconutz: Thanks, B. Believe. Ya. Girl.
Brickson: Trus me, I dew.
