ARRIVAL Pickle Inspector rises, disconcerted by the disorder. A welcome desk without a receptionist is little more than a table. Not so welcoming at all. Pickle Inspector stands in front of the desk for a moment, pretends to ring a little bell. No one comes. He moves to the other side of the desk and stands there for a few moments more. Now that's a proper welcome.
PI explores. Someone needs to learn to take better care of their hotels. He stops at one covered in red. Gustatory investigation confirms it is indeed dried blood. Ducking as the catacombs continue, PI makes his way up endless stairs and through the linoleum hole into the Stardust Diner. Accosted by a friendly waiter, PI only ogles in response.
I WANNA BE A COWBOY BABY A coercing voice pulls his stolid gaze to the mechanical bull in the back of the room. PI suspects he only imagined it, but a faint familiarity tells him this is not the voice of his imagination. The bull undulates undeniably. It is time to ride.
The promise of libations compels PI. He locks his lengthy thighs around the cowhide, mounts the big boy. Quickly PI realizes physical strength is not one of his primary attributes, but the task at hand demands more bravado than brawn. Unfortunately, he hasn't got that either.
Soon PI makes a heap beneath a barstool, his launch from the bull so dramatic as to carry him across the crowd and into the waiting embrace of inebriation. He orders drinks until his speech is too slurred to ask for another.
YOU GET THE HORNS That same voice that Pickle Inspector now knows not to be one of his impeccable imaginates draws him from his stool and into the street. His path through the alleyways is erratic yet certain. Before he has even noticed the bull he has mounted it. And off they run!
Pickle Inspector panics as his fingers stick to flesh beneath which eyes match his ogle a hundred times over. He has know idea where he's going. Quickly he forgets where he has been. Locked in the bull's endless gaze his many thoughts of letting go never amount to action.
When it is done with him, the bull flings Pickle Inspector aside. His fall, longer than he thought possible, through a well and deep into the ground below, is broken by his back against the water of the cistern. Immediately the acid eats into his brand new duds. Soon it will eat into his flesh.
no subject
Pickle Inspector rises, disconcerted by the disorder. A welcome desk without a receptionist is little more than a table. Not so welcoming at all. Pickle Inspector stands in front of the desk for a moment, pretends to ring a little bell. No one comes. He moves to the other side of the desk and stands there for a few moments more. Now that's a proper welcome.
PI explores. Someone needs to learn to take better care of their hotels. He stops at one covered in red. Gustatory investigation confirms it is indeed dried blood. Ducking as the catacombs continue, PI makes his way up endless stairs and through the linoleum hole into the Stardust Diner. Accosted by a friendly waiter, PI only ogles in response.
I WANNA BE A COWBOY BABY
A coercing voice pulls his stolid gaze to the mechanical bull in the back of the room. PI suspects he only imagined it, but a faint familiarity tells him this is not the voice of his imagination. The bull undulates undeniably. It is time to ride.
The promise of libations compels PI. He locks his lengthy thighs around the cowhide, mounts the big boy. Quickly PI realizes physical strength is not one of his primary attributes, but the task at hand demands more bravado than brawn. Unfortunately, he hasn't got that either.
Soon PI makes a heap beneath a barstool, his launch from the bull so dramatic as to carry him across the crowd and into the waiting embrace of inebriation. He orders drinks until his speech is too slurred to ask for another.
YOU GET THE HORNS
That same voice that Pickle Inspector now knows not to be one of his impeccable imaginates draws him from his stool and into the street. His path through the alleyways is erratic yet certain. Before he has even noticed the bull he has mounted it. And off they run!
Pickle Inspector panics as his fingers stick to flesh beneath which eyes match his ogle a hundred times over. He has know idea where he's going. Quickly he forgets where he has been. Locked in the bull's endless gaze his many thoughts of letting go never amount to action.
When it is done with him, the bull flings Pickle Inspector aside. His fall, longer than he thought possible, through a well and deep into the ground below, is broken by his back against the water of the cistern. Immediately the acid eats into his brand new duds. Soon it will eat into his flesh.