It's these substandard motels on the on the corner of 4th and Freemont Street.
Appealing, only because they are just that un-appealing.
Any practiced catholic would cross themselves upon entering.
The rooms have a hint of asbestos and maybe a just dash of formaldehyde,
and the habit of decomposing right before your very eyes.
(along with the people inside.)
there are no raindrops on roses or girls in white dresses.
It's sleeping with roaches and taking best guesses
at the shade of the sheets before all the stains
and a few more of your least. Favorite. Things.
Tonight tenants range from: a lawyer and a virgin
Accessorizing with a rosary tucked inside her lingerie
(she's getting a job at the firm come Monday.)
the Mrs. will stay with the cheating attorney,
moonlighting aside, she really needs his money.
Oh. What a wonderful caricature of intimacy.
and not to mention, the constable, and his proposition, for that "virgin".
Yes, the one the lawyer met with on "strictly business"
as he said to the Mrs. only hours before.
Well after he had left, as she was fixing her face in a compact,
there was a terrible crash. Between her and the badge.
She spilled her bag and her purse held a "purse" of a different kind.
And here is where he entertains that proposition:
arrested on possession
Or.
(now if this were you)
think of what you wouldn't want to happen.
They ended up...well, making love isn't exactly what I'm looking for.
But.
You.
Get.
The.
Picture.
Oh. what a wonderful caricature of intimacy.
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