Honeychild.

There is static on my television. The VHS has rewound itself and ejected. I swing my foot around and push the tape back in. I can sleep through the whole entire movie at 40 volume but not white noise. The tracking goes on for about 5 minutes until the picture is finally straight and the sound even. I peer down at the television screen I have seen this movie 12 times at least in the past 2 days on and off of my sleep cycle. You couldn't even really call it a sleep cycle it is almost constant sleep. Sometimes I wake up and jerk myself off, wipe the mess on the motel sheets and turn back over on my other side. The whole process wears me out more, I read somewhere men lose a lot of B vitamins when they ejaculate, probably some article on the internet. If it is true no wonder I am constantly fatigue. I checked into this motel with a woman, it is a dingy motel the walls are peeling, the carpet is stained, they don't take credit cards, or check ids. She was the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, hardly a woman, a girl, or maybe she just acted like it hurt. She could read what I liked in my eyes. Whores are good at that. The company in the lobby did not stare in an awkward way, knowing I was taking a hooker to room 38, but instead they followed her beauty. She smelled clean, enormous pouty lips, deep blue eyes, perfect porcelain skin all over, you can see it crawling up her legs, under her skirt, under her, everything. Blonde, not my usual taste, but I could not get past this girl. She charged by the hour, expensive, I figured I could maybe make it half an hour until she said 150 dollar minimum. I can swing that, whatever, just get in the car. There are hardly any words to describe the intercourse, I could pull out a thesareus and look up the word good, but I won't, it was good. I will never forget it, no matter how long I live, no matter how much alcohol was on my breath as I swerved the car into the next parking lot I could find. I did not expect the parking lot to be a motel parking lot, I just wanted it right then and there in the car so when she stepped out I was confused. She said "Let's get a room". I looked up, fuzzy vision, lucky break. I linked arms with her, not to look like a couple, for stability. Room 38, 20 dollars, something like that. The lanky counter man pulled a key out of the boxes behind him. She wrapped her fingers around it, perfectly manicured nails, not the fake manicure even, just real perfect nude nails, lovely. She's shaky, I wonder if this is her first time, she sure doesn't look like a hooker, she doesn't smell like a hooker. I fell onto the bed and she started to undress I asked her what her name was, she said Trixie. What a fake hooker name. Her real name was probably Annabelle or something sweet and southern like that, she looked like an Annabelle. Her mother probably loved her, her father probably raped her. I'd guess most hookers were raped as a child. Can I call you Annabelle? You can call me whatever you want to, money first. I pointed to my wallet which held at least 600 dollars, Annabelle turned, frowned at me, and only took the proper amount for some reason. There is sweat, tension, and noise. So much racket, I would even go as far as to say this girl does not know when to shut up. After wards I walk into the bathroom and rinse my dick off with some pocket mouthwash I carry around from work. I saw it on a movie, or read it in an article somewhere, I never learn from experiences. I reach up, touch my face. Facial hair, I have been so clean shaved I didn't even know I could grow it. I am glad to make this discovery, I am glad there is no mirror in this bathroom.

I am sitting in this chair, leaning forward, bad posture, elbows resting on my knees. Staying as close to myself as possible. Looking intently but trying hard not to stare. There is a couple here, with a child. Well I guess you couldn't really call him a child. He is a full grown adult, some facial hair, a little bit of a home made haircut, the kind of clothing ma and pa pick out. Legs are thin, overly thin, upper body is average. Wheel chair ridden. I would say probably mid thirties, random guess, 35. He can feed himself, I know this much, I watched the process for about 20 minutes. Feed himself as in hand to food, food to mouth, nothing more to it, nothing else needed matter of fact. Visually the whole sight and situation is nothing out of the ordinary. There are probably some morbid facts out there on how many people are handicapped daily, and I'm sure it is plenty. This is not the point of my whole thought process though, I realize I am kind of spacing out, hopefully they do not think I am gawking, I am not. His parents are older though, his father is obese, his mother too. I look over and analyze the food on their plates, low in carbohydrates, high in things like carrots, celery, an apple on both plates, piles of ranch dressing. Maybe on a diet, or with the statistics these days, diabetes? As far as I can tell, they are most likely going to die before him. I mean that is what anyone would guess. So the thing is, what happens when they die? This full grown adult can not even manuver his wheel chair let alone cook, go to the bathroom, get into bed, wake up on his own, the whole deal. He cannot live on his own he is completely codependant. Maybe they have some kind of fund for him, so when they do die he has the money and the means to live with a caretaker or in an assisted living home. I also wonder if he will understand death. It is probably some sort of instinct that is born into every living object. Something that has been around your whole life, suddenly gone, is probably associated with what we call death. Gone, death same thing. Maybe some mammals with a more heightened sense can smell it, hear it. Completely lacking the warmth of life. I Wonder if he cries or if he will cry.

Sitting in bed, eating sugar plums, smoking my lungs out.