11 April, 2006

Toes Exposed

...runnin’ a little bit hot tonight/ I can barely see the road from the heat comin’ off of it/ Ah, you reach down, between my legs/ Ease the seat back....




The day, the night, is like a soft caress, the fur of a kitten, the breath of an almost-lover just before a kiss. Stop me if you've heard this before.

It calls for windows down, and I absorb atmosphere.

Thank you to the Silver Spring planning committee, who hires a band to play tonight. I can hear nothing but the snap and boom of drum, and the occasional crash of high-hat, but as that's what I like best anyway, I am not complaining.

Thank you to the woman listening to the Temptations and singing along.

Thank you to the twenty-something cutie in the beat-up pickup truck kind enough to flirt with the likes of me.

Thank you to the makers of my beach chair, on which I recline behind the hedge on the porch, wearing less than I would if I were completely exposed to the street.

I dig through boxes, searching. There's nothing wrong with my clogs: nothing right with them, either. This day requires sandals. The pink ones. Hot pink kitten-heeled thong sandals, with tiny little straps that wrap around my foot.

I will leave to your imagination whether my undergarments match my footwear, my outerwear, or nothing in particular.

Primarily Decorative has not made a permanant switch to Team Brain.


(Panama; Van Halen)

2 comments:

Robert said...

Primarily Decorative lives near Silver Spring? Where this not-stalker works?

Cybele said...

No, you non-stalker, Primarily Decorative DRIVES THROUGH Silver Spring quite often, going to and from gigs. This one was at the Blair Mansion Inn, where I go to kill, or sometimes die. Although once in awhile Fluffy cons me into lunch at Eggspectations.