Sunday, November 6, 2016

Black Magic

  Just another Sunday. But the last one before a new regime would be decided on by the masses. To rule over the land with an iron fist. Like the old days. With Election Day around the corner and a cross-country trip on the horizon, The Van Man woke his ass up.
  He peeled himself off Mr. Funny's couch. The previous evening had seen the two old friends drinking booze and discussing whatever the hell drunk assholes discuss after their team wins. Fathers and dreams were always the topic. Van Man had one hell of a hard-on and crammed it deep into his jeans. He had a girl on his mind, but that was a story for another day. Mr. Funny was asleep in the other room and Van Man split. It was too early for consciousness, but he needed a coffee. Always the coffee.
  The Sunday crowd packed the quaint joint. Van Man stood in line, eyeing the menu board. There it was, his favorite. The darkest kiss of liquid, ebony sex. The legendary Black Magic. He was getting some, but first he would have to wait.
  As the line slowly progressed, a young lady stood in line behind him, talking on her phone. She covered the mouth speaker, muffling it.
"...he's a real person now...I said, he's a real person now...", spoke the Young Lady with a humoring demeanor.
"Well, okay, Grandma, I'm about to walk into church...I said, I'm about to walk into church...love you, too. Bye-bye."
The Young Lady hung up. Van Man ordered. She lied to her grandmother. Sure, it was Sunday, but she was not at any cathedral. He paid for his java and walked away.
  Had he ever lied to his grandmother? Hell yes. Too many times to count. And always for the same reason: to not disappoint her. How could she, a remnant of the old guard, ever understand him living in a van or dating a black girl or not being a man of religion? Perhaps, that was Young Lady's bag. Maybe, she was raised a good church-going lass, obedient and fearful. But now that she was in the City of Angels, she could shed that skin. Now, she could snort coke off trannies and shoot junk while dancing bottomless at the trendiest club. She had a life free from judgement by the ones she cared about. A simple lie could keep loved ones happy and at bay.
  Van Man hopped into his van and started up the growling engine. Was it more important to be open and honest about one's beliefs and truths, no matter if it hurt. Or was it better to hide a few things here and there, knowing that what they do not know will not harm them. Two days until it was time for the main event: to vote for a greedy, real estate fucker or a rode-hard, scary chick. Things could be worse. The Van Man took a sip of Black Magic and smiled.

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