like a burglar’s mask? i texted
a bandit. a burglar is not sexy, a bandit is.
earlier she had complained that i never wanted to meet her at her palatial residence. she tried to insult my pad. which is impossible. my place is near legendary.
she called it quaint and cozy but not sexy.
i said most of the time peoples eyes are closed, so who cares about all that crap? she said, just bring your bandit mask and a bandit toque and a striped shirt if you have one.
dont worry about capes, she whispered. i have capes.
i wanted to say bitch i got capes too and i bet mines are better’n yours, but ive been lonely and whatever. lets see these fantastic capes of yours.
she was pretty. sorta gorgeous, but like i said, most of the times your eyes are closed so who cares what people look like half the time. nowadays someones voice dont even matter cuz youre texting or emailing or using morse code.
when i got there the lights were off in her house and i thought maybe she got cold feet. or worse it was some weird surprise party or she was gonna have the cops waiting for me. my mind can think of a million scenarios in minutes. mostly bad ones.
i texted “here!” and i heard her clack across her hardwood to the door and swing it open dramatically and pose. she had a nightie, thigh highs, heels and what i guess was her bandit mask which sure as shit didnt look like mine.
she whispered: put yours on before you come in.
we got to her room and she turned off the lights. i prayed for my soul to keep. and she said, tony, i asked you to wear the mask and the cap and oh crap heres the cape. because i feel like our feelings are often stifled.
i said, nah, i just dont have any.
she said, of course you do sweetie. you love your mother, and the cubs, and… little armenia.
(how did she know what i called my schween?)
yes, i agreed, but i wouldnt call them feelings. those are just facts.
she said, well i have feelings, and they are stifled, i’ll speak for myself, so i propose we wear these outfits and take on the roles of antony and cleopatra. and speak as if we are simply in a play. no ones feelings will get hurt. neither of us has skin in the game. annnnnd action!
beautiful cleopatra, thank you for inviting me here, i began, singing my lines because thats acting?
yes my dear, she said, perking up, loving it.
but i dont deserve you. your energy, your mind, your neck, the bone beneath your neck, your bra strap, your bra, and what lies beneath your bra
but of course you do, she said, standing, ceiling fan twirling above her despite the fact that we are in winter.
alas, i don’t. for i have not been faithful to you.
hand me my sword, for i will fall on it.
and she held out an invisible sword.
my invisible sword.
she motioned for me to stop blocking the camera which rested on a tripod.
and i fell on it, and then the upon the fuzzy throw rug, and laid there on my back.
you cant be dead. you cant be dead! she cried.
i said nothing.
seriously you cant be dead, she repeated.
i opened one eye.
you still have a boner, she said pointing
i whispered: thats why they call us stiffs.
and she groaned.