"A KIND OF A BLUR" — © 1987 - 1999 by Charles Dobie

A KIND OF A BLUR : Page 3

Somehow we were on the sidewalk. I clung to him, sobbing, my face slathered with tears and vomit.

"Thought you were dead . . . thought you were dead for sure . . . fuckin' scared me, you bastard!"

Casey farted luxuriously. "Never die. Too fuckin' young to die. Take more'n booze to kill me, eh?"

"Jesus! Thought you were dead." I released him to hork into the gutter. "Time's it?"

He peered at his watch. "Early. Almos' ten. Too early t'go back. Jeez, I stink! Whoo-eee!!!"

"Pickled eggs. Rot your guts."

"Yeah, wait'll we get back, eh? Kill 'em all. Gas 'em for sure. Yaah-hooo!!"

"You ok?"

"Sure. You? You look like fuckin' shit. Hey, lookit the guy in the car with all the broads. What's he got that we ain't, eh? A twelve inch hose or somethin'?"

"Maybe. Maybe a twelve inch tongue."

Stunned by my brilliance, he doubled over, nearly collapsing. Then: "Speakin' of hoses . . ."

"What?"

"Gotta take a leak."

"Yeah? Where?"

"Alley . . . over there."

We stumbled into a narrow, brick-paved alley between two office buildings; it ended at a dumpster overflowing with garbage. Side-by-side, we sprayed the dumpster and the wall of the building until the bricks of the alley became islands in a steaming river of piss.

I watched Casey the whole time, straight-arming the wall to support myself. He didn't notice. He had everything out of his pants, cupping his balls in one hand while he held his cock with the other. Even using two hands, he managed to let me have an unobstructed view. But like I said, he didn't notice.

"Ahh . . . feels good!"

"Yeah." He finished pissing, vigorously shaking his cock. "That's who this is: Mister Feelgood." He shook it again.

"Shake it more'n three times and you're playin' with it!" My heart thudded with sudden hope, but he zipped up.

"Shake, rattle 'n' roll!" he roared, and we staggered out of the alley, our arms around each other's shoulders like two drunken sailors in a nineteenth century temperance cartoon. Launching ourselves into the sidewalk traffic, we ploughed against the current. "Shake, rattle 'n' roll!"

THE END

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"A KIND OF A BLUR" — © 1987 - 1999 by Charles Dobie