“Come on baby, write mama a story”

Risultati immagini per Come on baby, write mama a storyThe question before him was simple; rent it or walk away? It was early summer and the slightly opened window in the unornamented space of this newly vacant room, nearer the street than the ocean it was advertised to be facing, was ushering in bouquets of street diesel and neighborhood barbecue. A swirly un-reversed ceiling fan intent on stirring up even the quietest of visitors thoughts tapped out a clacking staccato beat with a metal cord attached to it’s bottom. An empty can of beer sat atop a desk of sturdy stained oaken nature. A writing surface shaded by a half open roll top with a broken lock gave him no confidence of its ability to keep anything from prying eyes. The entire ensemble pushed against a wall he at once knew he would never feel comfortable writing against. The room and its contents had been left all clumsily thrown together as if it were a half skirted female in the most of un-lady like of postures, with her legs wide open waving a half smoked cigarette in one hand while reaching to set the beer on the desk with the other. A scene smothered in lipstick and cheap perfume. In his head he heard, “Come on baby, write mamma a story.” An impulse suddenly to pull away and write about floras filled his head like the rush of ocean surf. He knew a lot about flowers, and was it not better to write about something he knew than to let his mind invest in a story all about her? The thought of writing freelance! Perhaps she had just gotten off of a ship from Barcelona? Walking into the room for the first time he paused, leaned against the wall, closed his eyes and said yes; rent the room.”

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