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They dressed him like a local...like somebody you'd see prowling the wee hour streets of Center City (think manhattan) Philadelphia on a Sunday night. Straight leg, Wrangler jeans, a Chase Utley, number 26 jersey (the pinstripe one), white ankle socks and some original, black low cut 'Chuckies.' I think they gave him a baseball cap too. Did he look strange? Did he appear out of place? Not at all. In fact, most people would consider him to be quite good looking. You know, Neanderthals, both male and female, sport gymnast builds. Facial features, as we've said, tend to be strong. And the small, shapely chin resembles many seen in the best examples of Japanese Anime. (did I spell that right, or does it mean something else?) The over developed brow ridge might pose a problem. Not that it's unattractive, but just different in a visceral, ativistic sort of way. But the hat (brim low over the eyes) should camouflage that.
And so, Mister Old Bones was set. They gave him one hundred dollars in cash. He knew how to read numbers. Annie taught him. And they told him to stick to taxis. If anyone questioned his accent, he's to say it's Estonian. Come on, who's gonna know what an Estonian accent sounds like anyway?
Initially, everything went well. He bought lip balm and a box of tampons in an all-night CVS. At first he thought the girl behind the counter might be one of his own kind. But when he tried to manipulate her breast to see if it conformed to the norms of his tribe, she slapped him away and shouted something he couldn't understand. True, there were some isolated bands sharing his home territory in Siberia, but he wanted to find out if any lived outside the area too. And breast manipulation was a friendly form of greeting among his people. Look, he wasn't offended when 'cave' ladies manipulated his scrotum. Good manners are good manners. So he cursed the CVS girl in his Mother Tongue, as he stormed out into the night.
After a while walking proved tedious, so he automatically fell into the lemur-like, leaping gallop traditionally found among his people. Some tired folks heading home from night work huddled together inside a bus shelter when he went by. Yet a bike cop reading porn at a newsstand didn't say a word. A whore yelled - Yo, where you gone, shit-for-brains cute stuff? But he didn't understand such colorful colloquialisms, so he just kept on bouncin' and bouncin'. A few hundred heartbeats later he carefully examined some sleeping, homeless guys under the arcade of a post modern office tower, but they were deep into a muscatel induced double feature, so they slept right through it. Needless to say, they did not sport the requisite physical traits.
Now a warm breeze blew up from the south right about three o'clock. That's when he lost the jersey. Some old guy in a Chevy Caprice slowed down to pick him up, but the car smelled funny...kind of like the caribou did come rutting time, so he waved him off. Five minutes later the guy circled back. Mister Old Bones still wasn't interested, but he gave the sloppy bastard two Andrew Hamiltons as kind of a goodwill gesture. Guy mumbles some curse at him, but ,ten minutes later, was seen tucking into a twenty piece box of Chicken McNuggets at an all night Mickey D's. I guess he satisfied his hunger in a somewhat different way.
A little bit later it got even hotter. That's when the pants came off. Never did put on them tightie-whities, so at least they weren't a loss. And off he goes, gallopin' down the street. He did know that it wasn't permissible to go running around all naked in this culture. That's why he kept the baseball cap, the socks and the 'Chuckies.' Did have to lose 'em so he could pull off the jeans, but put 'em back right after, 'cause he hated gallivanting 'round the city barefoot and all. Some people exiting an after hours club in Queen Village cheered and whistled as he flew by. He liked them. They were friendly.
And a different whore from the one he saw before did all kinds a neighborly things to his not-quite-private parts. He gave her four Andrew Hamiltons. That seemed to be the going rate. And then he reciprocated with friendly ministrations of his own. When it was over, he was sure she was Neanderthal. But she didn't exactly know what she was, though she thought her father might a been part Cherokee.
Two hours later, he comes back to the Anti-Enchantment-Bureau complex under the Navy Yard with a big smile on his face and a Donald Duck tattoo on his ass. Guy at the parlor said he wasn't big on pants neither. But vampire skin can't hold no tattoo, so come sundown he was back to being all regular and bare assed again.
Little Annie said the tampons made good bolsters on the beds in her Barbie's Dream House and she was glad to get 'em. They figured he must a carried the box under his hat. But the tube of lip balm was long gone.
Did he feed? Well, he did take a little bit off the whore and from one a the sleepin' homeless guys. But that's all. For except in matters of dress (or undress), Mister Old Bones was fastidious and discreet in every way. And although no mostly Neanderthal specimens were found that night, the outing was an exceedingly favorable one just the same.
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boy do we like COMMENTS and we talk them up on twitter too. also appreciated are people who help spread this around via that little SHARE BAR we got down there. thanks to you all and to all a good night!
And so, Mister Old Bones was set. They gave him one hundred dollars in cash. He knew how to read numbers. Annie taught him. And they told him to stick to taxis. If anyone questioned his accent, he's to say it's Estonian. Come on, who's gonna know what an Estonian accent sounds like anyway?
Initially, everything went well. He bought lip balm and a box of tampons in an all-night CVS. At first he thought the girl behind the counter might be one of his own kind. But when he tried to manipulate her breast to see if it conformed to the norms of his tribe, she slapped him away and shouted something he couldn't understand. True, there were some isolated bands sharing his home territory in Siberia, but he wanted to find out if any lived outside the area too. And breast manipulation was a friendly form of greeting among his people. Look, he wasn't offended when 'cave' ladies manipulated his scrotum. Good manners are good manners. So he cursed the CVS girl in his Mother Tongue, as he stormed out into the night.
After a while walking proved tedious, so he automatically fell into the lemur-like, leaping gallop traditionally found among his people. Some tired folks heading home from night work huddled together inside a bus shelter when he went by. Yet a bike cop reading porn at a newsstand didn't say a word. A whore yelled - Yo, where you gone, shit-for-brains cute stuff? But he didn't understand such colorful colloquialisms, so he just kept on bouncin' and bouncin'. A few hundred heartbeats later he carefully examined some sleeping, homeless guys under the arcade of a post modern office tower, but they were deep into a muscatel induced double feature, so they slept right through it. Needless to say, they did not sport the requisite physical traits.
Now a warm breeze blew up from the south right about three o'clock. That's when he lost the jersey. Some old guy in a Chevy Caprice slowed down to pick him up, but the car smelled funny...kind of like the caribou did come rutting time, so he waved him off. Five minutes later the guy circled back. Mister Old Bones still wasn't interested, but he gave the sloppy bastard two Andrew Hamiltons as kind of a goodwill gesture. Guy mumbles some curse at him, but ,ten minutes later, was seen tucking into a twenty piece box of Chicken McNuggets at an all night Mickey D's. I guess he satisfied his hunger in a somewhat different way.
A little bit later it got even hotter. That's when the pants came off. Never did put on them tightie-whities, so at least they weren't a loss. And off he goes, gallopin' down the street. He did know that it wasn't permissible to go running around all naked in this culture. That's why he kept the baseball cap, the socks and the 'Chuckies.' Did have to lose 'em so he could pull off the jeans, but put 'em back right after, 'cause he hated gallivanting 'round the city barefoot and all. Some people exiting an after hours club in Queen Village cheered and whistled as he flew by. He liked them. They were friendly.
And a different whore from the one he saw before did all kinds a neighborly things to his not-quite-private parts. He gave her four Andrew Hamiltons. That seemed to be the going rate. And then he reciprocated with friendly ministrations of his own. When it was over, he was sure she was Neanderthal. But she didn't exactly know what she was, though she thought her father might a been part Cherokee.
Two hours later, he comes back to the Anti-Enchantment-Bureau complex under the Navy Yard with a big smile on his face and a Donald Duck tattoo on his ass. Guy at the parlor said he wasn't big on pants neither. But vampire skin can't hold no tattoo, so come sundown he was back to being all regular and bare assed again.
Little Annie said the tampons made good bolsters on the beds in her Barbie's Dream House and she was glad to get 'em. They figured he must a carried the box under his hat. But the tube of lip balm was long gone.
Did he feed? Well, he did take a little bit off the whore and from one a the sleepin' homeless guys. But that's all. For except in matters of dress (or undress), Mister Old Bones was fastidious and discreet in every way. And although no mostly Neanderthal specimens were found that night, the outing was an exceedingly favorable one just the same.
===>===>===>===>===><><===<===<===<===<===
boy do we like COMMENTS and we talk them up on twitter too. also appreciated are people who help spread this around via that little SHARE BAR we got down there. thanks to you all and to all a good night!
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