If It Feels Good Do It

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Life With A Loaded Gun II

July 25th, 2008 · 3 Comments · Fiction, Memoirs

Holy shit am I going bald?

there was a lot of scalp at the top of my head. I could only see it if I bent forward. maybe it was just my haircut. or maybe I was just another obsessively vain dude from California.

Oh well I like short girls anyways.

I was in the bathroom of a metal bar in downtown L.A. it was a not a nice place.

I walked out of the bathroom and a Motley Crue song was playing.

I sat at the bar next to the middleman. he turned his head and asked me a question.

What can I get you, Bowman?

Hm. How about name-dropping no-names, glamorized cocaine, puppets with strings of gold?

Huh?

It’s the lyrics to this song.

Oh.

So do you have my money or what?

Yeah, we wired it. You can check your account.

it wasn’t the first time we had done business.

I know you’re good for it. Space A23 in the lot across the street. Black Chevy Nova.

I handed him the keys.

Cool. I’m gonna take off now. You just gonna chill here?

Yeah, for a little bit. Kinda tired.

I’ll bet. Later.

I ordered a Jack on the rocks.

the middleman left but a bunch of his crew stayed behind, including a girl. she came and sat next to me.

she had something to ask me.

I have something to ask you.

What?

Are you carrying a loaded gun?

I looked at the girl and then behind me at the rest of the group and then back at the girl.

That’s kind of a forward question isn’t it?

Yeah, maybe so.

I just stared and didn’t say anything.

Well? Are you going to tell me a forward answer?

she was wearing a short dress.

I’ve got bullets to spare.

she crossed her legs.

What kind of gun is it?

Smith & Wesson. 357 revolver.

she uncrossed her legs.

Let’s leave. Back to my apartment.

What? Are you sure? Are you even legal?

Yes.

Really? No you’re not.

Yes I am, and I have the documentation to prove it.

she got out her drivers license, two credit cards and her passport. she showed them to me. she was 19.

See I told you.

Okay. You’re right. In which case I have something to ask you.

she put her elbow on the bar and looked at me.

Okay.

Do you give good hand jobs?

she took her elbow off the table.

What?

Do you give a good hand job?

Good hand job?!

Yeah.

Fuck hand jobs. Who gives hand jobs anymore? Those are so 1955.

she had passed the litmus test.

Okay good. Clearly you are in the Ian Bowman demographic.

she smiled. then she laughed.

Ha ha ha ha!

a that point I just had two things to say.

I just have two things to say.

What? What are they?

Skin on skin. Let the love begin.

and it did. like three times. before that she drove us to her apartment in a Ferrari.

at dawn she was sleeping I reached down to the floor and grabbed my gun.

cli-cli-cli-cli click. cli-cli-cli-cli click.

Too many bullets.

then I slept some more.

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3 responses so far ↓

  • 1 Ross // Jul 30, 2008 at 11:42 am

    I’m filling out this comment.
    “This is my comment - Fuck hand jobs.”

    like three times… LOL

  • 2 lou // Aug 2, 2008 at 3:44 pm

    there’s no more wondering why i think about you when i hear an automated weapon go off in the middle of nowhere.

  • 3 Ian Bowman // Aug 4, 2008 at 8:14 pm

    lou - I’m going to tell you the same thing I told Alex: That’s one of the best compliments I’ve heard in a long time.

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