Sam and Brandi's Bogus Journey
by Nathan Tyree
This is not a tragic story. You can, you will, bring your own interpretation to it, but if the word tragedy enters your mind it is just because you spent too much time mulling Sophocles and Shakespeare in college. If you have those sort of inclinations, you should stop right now and go read some Pynchon before you finish this.
The fist time I met Sam Pink he had ragged bloody flaps of skin hanging from each cheek. I was at Jake's. A bunch of us were playing poker in his garage when Sam came sloping through the door looking like something out of a Romero movie with blood and pus dripping down on his threadbare T-shirt. After some perfunctory introductions Sam explained that he had spent the whole morning building a bike ramp out of plywood and two by fours. He had placed it in the street in front of his house then he rode his bike down the block. He had turned and ridden at full speed at the ramp, but from the wrong direction so that when he hit it the force upended the bike and sent him flying. He had hit the pavement face first and slid several feet. When he went inside and saw what his stunt had done to his face he went back outside and did the whole thing again. This time he leaned to the left so that the other side of his face would take the damage and create symmetry.
After that day I didn't give Sam a lot of thought. I was busy drinking and chasing skirt. Then one night at Skip's place, Sam called. Me and Skip and Freddy were trying to talk this girl into getting out of her clothes. Brandi was her name. She was a hot skinny little college girl that we had lured home from this crappy little club with the promise of Vanilla Stoli and a new CD by the 5, 6, 7, 8's. This girl was cute in a dark way. Smart. Smarter than any of us and she kept talking about literary theory and Harold Bloom and how Claudius was really Hamlet's father, but none of us cared about that. We were in a race to see who could nail her (or maybe we thought that we could all nail her- maybe two of us would end up spit roasting her and the third would have to wait his turn). Anyway, Sam called Skip's cell to invite us to his restaurant.
Sam had rented three buildings right next to each other. He had spray painted the words Pink's Palace across the front of each boarded up shit hole and announced to everyone that Pink's Palace was the hot new eatery in town. He didn't have a stove, and there was just some strung out junky bink in a bikini that he had convinced to act like a waitress. He was despondent in a Holden Caulfield sort of way about the fact that he didn't have any customers. Skip told him to come over. Since he didn't have any menus he decided to take him up on it.
Skip told me that Sam had inherited some money from his grandmother. That was how he
afforded all of his odd schemes like the restaurant.
By the time Sam showed up Brandi was almost unconscious and Skip had a nasty look in his eye. She had been making out with Freddy and then she let Skip feel her up a little, but then she fell back in the recliner and wouldn't talk to anyone. Her hair was mussed.
When Sam got there he came through the door with a rubber chicken in his fist. His Mohawk had fallen over to one side. The boy was like a tornado. Loud. Brandi snapped back and somehow gravitated to the weird kid. It did not take long before the rest of us realized that we had missed our shot with her. After a while we started a poker game but Brandi and Sam had vanished.
I said something about needing to piss and went looking. When I opened the bedroom door I saw Sam flat on his back, naked. His engorged cock was sticking up like a flag pole with a bend in it. Brandi was straddling him, holding a roll of paper towels and forcing them into his mouth. She had one knee on each of his wrists, keeping him from fighting back as she pushed harder and harder forcing the paper deeper into his mouth and down his throat.
When he stopped struggling she stood up, slid her pant and panties off then stood over his face. She squatted and started to piss directly onto the roll of paper towels sticking from his rigor mouth. It was then that I realized that Sam was dead. When she saw me watching she turned to look at me, still pissing and said "So, you wanna get fucked or what?"