Rats

"I've been leery, but this is enough..." He mumbled as the car came to a screeching halt and he reached for his gun. "no, no, no, it's just a rat" she gushed, "the poor thing!" A stealth brown rat steadily sped across the glimmering pavement.

The car pulled off as the sound and smell of screeching rubber was left behind. the streetlights became a quick blur as their speed increased. Twenty blocks down she jetted into a parking space, narrowly snagging it from a cop, directly in front of the "Foxy Playground."

He held the door as they entered the gaudily lit topless bar. The couple took a booth off to the right of the catwalk-looking stage. On stage was an Anti Fashion show in full effect. A woman slowly removing her long gloves sat airily atop a backwards chair. They ordered drinks from a scantily clad waitress in an overstuffed bustier, her red patent boots clicking as she turned to fetch the drinks. "Can I bum a smoke?" she asked. "Sure" he said, handing her a cigarette. "I need a light," she spoke softly, reaching into his pocket. "Other one" he said as he lit her cigarette and watched the smoke curl up, casually mingling with the air. The waitress leaned the drinks onto the table and plopped down the check. She turned as the woman on stage was unbuckling a shiny black belt and handed it to her.

"How's the drink?" she asked. He shook his head and blew out the candle that lit the table, spraying wax. He reached for her cheek and asked out of concern, "that didn't hit you did it?"

The music suddenly changed to a low sexy drawl, and cheers were starting to cover the music. A woman in a floorlength satin dress emerged, strutting to the melody. She looked as if she had just been yanked from draping sullenly across a piano. The curve of her face reflected the light from her light coffee skin as she mouthed some of the vocals to the music. She began to remove the straps of her dress, as a fat man in the corner seemed to melt. Her shape held the elegance of a distinguished pose as she revealed a leather bra. He counted out twenty singles and left them on the table. She gathered up her cape and fastened it tight with an ornate brooch. They walked to the door clapping as the room began to bubble over into a standing ovation. The fat man at the bar never noticed the gun pointed at his bulbous, bobbing head as he was sprayed with lead.

"We should have hit that rat..." he said as he held the door for her.

(R. Teri Memolo)