Cruising on Cloud Nine
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The Cloud 9 bar scene sizzles and pops with night crawlers getting their kicks from high and low.
Transcript of Cruising on Cloud Nine
CRUISING ON CLOUD NINEby Rayanda
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters and events portrayed in this work are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.
CRUISING ON CLOUD NINE. Copyright © 2009 by Rayanda Arts. First electronic edition: November 16, 2009. Protected by a Creative Commons 2.5 license: You are free to share and distribute this work for noncommercial purposes provided you retain attribution to Rayanda Arts and make no derivative works. This notice of copyright must be retained on any electronic or printed copies.
www.RayandaArts.com
Cruising on Cloud Nine
A silver limousine rolls
past garbage bins
to the hidden portals
of Cloud Nine.
A sleek blond shimmers out.
She takes long, languid steps
around bits of people's lives
strewn about like discarded thoughts
in an alley where light is not welcome.
A Godzilla guard punches the air
to amuse himself.
He's seen her so many times
he notices her puffy eye
as she slinks by without paying
him any mind.
She earns an approving look
from a peeper watching her
through a slit in the door.
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Inside, the bare walls
melt into flesh
not exactly the color of hell
but thunderous and incessant enough
to keep desires seething
the place sizzling
the money flowing
through any dream vice can buy,
like professional lovers
with overpriced wiles
and nothing smiles
peddling easy virtue.
She slithers into step
with the racket that
seduces her ears into
hearing nothing at all,
and feeling even less
in a dance with no beginning
only ending after ending
as she changes partners
faster than the music
throbbing beneath her dress.
Dealer, dealing, deal!
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She peers through the haze
for nasty narcs and vice,
the bottom feeders
in a sea of hustlers.
They're up to other tricks tonight.
A dude named john
flashes what he has,
exposing what he hasn't.
She veers out of his reach
to cozy up to the man
with the right stuff
to dust Cloud Nine with angels.
She rushes to a standstill.
Momentarily.
Her time isn't her own,
she's a working girl, a specialist
in a cheater's lost paradise.
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Another cheap trick
rubs her the right way.
“You want what?! I—Ekkkkkkk!”
She spies a rod,
a real piece.
What she couldn't do
with a shooter that size.
Pop! And pretty sparkles,
a hunk falls back dead
against her trick,
sending her living to hell
and killing a perfectly good night.
With the big big blue
sniffing and poking around
she can't get on with her job
satisfying men
who can't be satisfied
by any woman
who isn't one of the guys
underneath it all.
They come and come
then go in the dark.
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She avoids the sun,
the detestable thing
plays tricks on her eyes,
making her look like hell,
and casts shadows
on her worth,
but the darkness she craves
follows the sun
and tomorrow is another night.
—Rayanda
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