The Music Man


In ancient times, she finds herself in a dell. Under enormous eucalyptus trees, wearing nothing but a short shift, she locks her car. Remembering the instructions, alone now, she unlocks her car again, takes off her underwear, then locks the keys inside. There's a certain amount of danger here, standing naked. Warm sunshine and all. Way back in the past.


All right, there's a certain amount of time that goes by, fast cars and uncertainty, way up in the dell. In a way this is hard, standing provocatively. Are these motorcycles so silent?


Maybe it's hard naked anger now. No watch on, she peers through the window at the dashboard, leaning a little farther. Reality being nothing like fantasy, this is pure fury, and on the itchy motorcycle, there won't be talk. Shit on Goddamn fucking ass-wiped toilet trained shit fucking piss ass-wipe rules, stubbing her bleeding fucking toe, and over again! All right, next time it's going back and do it right, wearing laced-up leather sandals, I mean, really! Ancient times, and fast motorcycles. Too fast to wear a helmet we are, though we have one, we slip it on, and we're off! This buzzing familiar leather scent now, and hard back, and squeezing on in the dell flashing dell, flashing, well?