Wednesday, October 19, 2016

ANABELLA THE WITCH AND THE SALESMAN .. 10/18/16

They have all kinds a little country roads around Atlantic City. Not on the island itself, but over the bridge and through the marshland. Air still feels like the shore, but you can't see the ocean. Sure, folks know the Atlantic City Expressway, The Garden State Parkway and all them. But folks what know, ride the Black Horse Pike, or the White Horse Pike. They got two lanes in each direction, no sidewalks and lots a old timey custard stands, farm markets, places what sell all kinds a hubcaps, burger place with a giant, country boy, Mad Magazine guy standin' over it and woods... lots a thick, mostly pine woods comin' right up to the edge and sometimes reachin' out over it.

Then we got the smaller roads, one lane in each direction cuttin' through little truck farm villages (really just stretch a highway with few houses and a tiny convenience store on it)... some horse farms... few sheep places. One or two a the houses is murder scenes, but old ones, not fresh ones. Road crosses baby rivers and every place you look got lots a trees.

See, most of Jersey ain't 'Joisey.' That just a New York thing. South Jersey do have a lot a Philadelphia suburbs, nice ones too, with big malls and delicatessens and decorator kitchen showrooms and beautician-like plastic surgery joints in country-lookin' houses with green lawns, but that New Yawk thing is far, far away on the other side a the Jersey Pines, if you don't count Route 73, or Route 70, or Route 38, or Route 130, or 295, or ...well you get the picture.

But we're following witch gal, Anabella (from The Pines) and that salesman guy. They outside Atlantic City... well, fifteen or twenty miles outside Atlantic City. They got lots a blueberry farms out that way. Some roads got cranberry bogs, but not this one. This one just got the blueberries.

Salesman drive a two thousand and three Ford Taurus. It all shined up, but it still a almost seventeen year old Ford Taurus. Salesman know this, but Anabella don't, 'cause car ridin' ain't a regular thing with her. Folks in the Pines sets they asses in old, pick-up trucks, farm wagons (like a Jeep an' a teeny motorized cart had a baby) and mostly live horses and mules. Once she rode in a ambulance, but it was a old fashioned, hearse kind an' she was out cold, 'cause a mule foot clipped her head.

She say - Where we goin'?..... He say - We goin' for pizza. That like an Eye-talian grilled cheese sandwich wit little hot dogs cut up on it. You hungry?.... She go - Hell, yeah, I'm hungry. But none a that mushin' up stuff till after we eat, 'cause I ain't no whore.... He go - Uh huh.... Then nobody talks and they just ride. She see a temporary, seasonal Halloween costume store. She see a little place what sells pressed ham, American cheese, soft pretzels and cans a soda. She sees a gas station... a spooky lookin' doll hospital...a old lady tryin' a give away a angry, little, screechin' monkey in a homemade Hitler suit. Monkey don't like no mustache and keep rippin' it off, but that ruin half the effect.... Salesman guy go - You want that monkey? I get it for you?.... Witch gal say - No...( Some people fussy).... Salesman go - I like your dress... She say - Thank you. I made it myself. Took a orange, nylon extra large, men's tank top an' stretched it out so it'd be long and then I found a sequined belt on a dead baton twirlin' girl layin' in the swamp. (salesman guy's mouth twitch a little)

More quiet ridin'... Then she put her hand on his knee. They go a little faster. He gotta jam on the brakes, or he shoot by that pizza place. He scoot round a her side and let her out. That when he see she ain't got no drawers on. Ain't got no brassiere on either.... jus' her stretched out, nylon tank top an' that sequined belt from the swamp.

Folks let pizza grease run down they chins and jus' look when she walk in, 'cause she so beautiful and partially exposed an' all...

Owner turn the air on real strong, 'cause he accommodating that way...

And we really  do want a tell you more tonight, but it is just about 3AM here. Billy's still woozy from chest cold potions and other nostrums . He's the one who channels this. Plus there's lousy snack stuff in the kitchen, not no honey glazed turkey-ham, or honey-mustard-onion pretzel bits, or nothin' with honey. or even salt... jus' crappy cookies and crappy cookies and crappy cookies... so with your kind indulgence... more next time.

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