Yellow road
The sun kept coming up as we drove through the desert. I’d wake up every once in a while and try to go back to sleep. My nech ached with the strain. I kept thinking of how I had held her close and felt the excitement rising in her.
She had thrown her head back with total indifference to the world when I kissed the back of her neck. It excited me. I thought of it and felt good as the sun came up and hit me straight on the eyelids.
We stopped at a breakfast place just off the highway at about six. We must have been driving for three hours now.
“How old is this place?”, Steve asked.
“From 1932,” the lady at the counter answered.
My head started to clear with the light coffee, and the feeling of holding her close dissolved with the satisfaction of feeling better after so little sleep. I could almost feel conscious, but without my glasses everything was foggy. The lady looked very pleasant. Everything looks pleasant myopically. Maybe thats a significant thought. Maybe not; well depends on how you think of it, or how you interpret what I say.
I felt like thanking her effusively for taking me out of my stupor with generous coffee refills. I told her it was a great breakfast. She beamed. I told her the coffee was good. A regular customer came and chatted casually with her. I felt good about not getting the same attention as her.
We drove down, and I was less sleepy. Steve kept wondering why people lived in the desert. He’d laugh at every house he saw. He also told me his real name wasn’t Steve. He had given himself an easy English name so he wouldn’t have to repeat his name or spell it.
I felt drowsy as we drove on, and I’d sleep and wake up with a start. My neck rested on my leather jacket now, and its soft texture felt nice and made me think of the previous night.
The canyon didn’t impress me much from the view points. Maybe it would if I went deeper. A board at Desert View asks if you can run the Boston marathon. A marathoner died in the canyon on a hot day because she hadn’t planned her trip well. It was a 28 mile trip, her estimate was 13. She died of dehydration. Then it goes on to explain how you could have a safe hike if you listen to them and read their stuff.
We jump on different rocks, second guessing which of them will fall with us standing on them. After a while, I’m just tired of the top view but don’t say anything.
The waitress at the lunch place is manly. She looks weirdly at me while I’m ordering. She’s disappointed when I order just fries.
The other one is cute. Just about my height. Great figure. Nice hair. “I’d like to date her,” I tell Steve. When Bryan asks our waitress for some honey, the cute one brings it promptly.
“Ya she is good,” he says. “For me,” giggles like a schoolgirl.
“Ya, with your wife and kid. But what is she doing in the desert?”
Steve pushes the car to hundred as we get closer to Vegas. He’s in some hurry. Maybe just too sleepy. He pulls over to a side and says he needs rest. In less than a minute he is snoring.
Bryan is fast asleep. Cars zip past our headlights streaming to a distance.
We are back by eight. Steve leaves for a redezvous with an old friend. As we are walking in, a girl catches my eye. Tall. African-American. She comes over. I stop; Bryan goes on.
“So what are you doing tonight, apart form your boring work?”
“Sleeping. Isn’t that good?”
“Sleep, in Vegas? You could do better..”
aaghh.
“Yea?”
“Yea. You could have much more fun.” She’s playing with her hair and twisting her lips.
“How?”
“With me. I could give you a good time.”
“I like sleep better.”
Bryan walks over. He gets her last line.
“How much?,” he stands with his weight on one foot and gives her a sideways look like a prospective customer.
“200$ onwards. Depends on what you do.”
“For both?”
“300$.”
I’m tired now. Suddenly last night’s thoughts flash across and I can’t stand it any more.
“Bye,” I tell her. “Good luck with other customers. I need to sleep.”
“Remember its all negotiable,” she says. “Here’s my number,” she slips a note into my hand. I walk away and toss it into the garbage can while she’s still looking.
“Sad, man,” he says. “She’s also a seller. God could have made her prettier.”
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Ek vegetarian aadmee,America main accha naashtaa kaise khaa saktaa hai???
“She’s also a seller”. So is everyone else, right?
Bye the way, who was the chick you held and kissed. Sounds interesting. I would like to know more about that ‘tryst-with-dameeeeyyy’
-Animesh