bouncing ball exercise

love sick

Love Sick
By Robert D’Esposito


“Safeway card?” the cashier asked as Todd handed her $15.00 dollars and insisted, “Here, keep the change.” He began to run as he exited the store but the movement threatened to damage the flowers so he slowed to a fast walk. “Fucking claim review!” he thought as he tried to admire the $12.50 arrangement for which he had just over-payed.

The cell phone began to vibrate in Todd’s pocket as the otherworldly, digital beeping caught him unaware. He looked at the screen for a long moment and then pressed the green button, “Hey.”
“Hey you,” a woman’s voice responded.
“What’s up, Tara?”
“Oh, I’m fine, how was your day?” Tara asked.
Todd chuckled and responded, “I’m sorry. Look, I’m just in a rush right now,” he explained as he continued his speedy walk.
“I wanted to see if you were gonna be around this weekend.”
“Actually, I am kinda booked this weekend,” Todd said.
“Kinda or totally?” Tara asked.
“Totally…”
“How about late tonight or Saturday? I was just shopping at Victoria’s Secret and I bought something special…”
“Really? I wish I could but I can’t, really. During the week or next weekend…”
“Maybe. We’ll see. I might be busy,” she responded.
“Tara, look… let’s just talk mid-week,” he tried to wrap it up.
“You suck.”
“I know. But I have a friend coming in to town.”
“Oh.” She responded, paused a moment and continued, “I still have bruises from Tuesday. I have a big purple welt on my chest…”
“I’d like to see that, but…”
“It’ll probably be all gone by Sunday,” she continued.
“Then we can make new ones. Ok?”
“We’ll see. I might be going to Vancouver, BC next week.”
“I’ll call you.” He pressed the “end call” button.

The train rolled slowly into the station. “Airport; please remain seated until the train has come to a complete stop,” the automated, she-robot voice insisted. Todd rose, nonetheless and stood impatiently before the sliding doors.

Todd had intended to be early, to pick up the rental car and have it waiting with their song cued on the CD player. He intended to go home and shower, put a little grease in his hair and spray a light mist of cologne on the back of his neck. He had a special shirt laid out on his freshly made bed: a red and white western style button down that would go well with his new blue jeans.

The train halted and the doors stood motionless for an eternity while Todd took off his striped tie, folded it and put it in the back pocket of his sweaty khakis. “Fucking audit,” he complained to himself. “Fucking bullshit financial notes,” he continued and leapt through the opening doors, onto the platform toward the escalator leading to the baggage claim.

Across the cavernous room Lorna’s strawberry blonde pig tails had the purple tinge of a fresh corpse underneath the fluorescent lights. Todd hid the cheap bouquet behind his back rapidly walking toward the crowd assembled around the conveyer belt.

Todd put his free hand over her eyes from behind. “Guess who?” he asked. “Maury Povich!” she turned and grabbed him tightly, around his waist. “Look,” Todd started, “I got you these. I would’ve gotten better ones but…”
“These are perfect,” she assured him, “now stand up straight so I can get a good look at you.”

They got into the late model, dark blue Kia Rio and Todd slipped in a CD. Billy Holiday sang, “Summertime, and the living’s easy...” “You,” Lorna smiled and kissed him on the cheek. “Your daddy’s rich and your ma’s good looking…” he crooned to her.

At Todd’s studio apartment a bottle of Maker’s Mark sat beside a pile of hastily stacked bills and advertisements on the kitchen table. “Sorry, I couldn’t get some better whiskey. This is probably a bit pedestrian for the crowd at U Penn…” he began to explain but Lorna cut him off, “are you kidding? We are lucky to drink Old Crow outta paper cups in the graduate dorms on Friday nights; c’mon, it hasn’t been that long since you were a student.”
“It feels like forever ago…” he said.
“It’s been five months,” she assured him.

Todd poured two cocktails into mismatched coffee cups: one neat, the other with soda and an ice cube. “MPC: Medical Products Corporation,” she read the side of the mug. “Work,” he explained.
“Did you miss me?” she inquired in a girlish way.
“Like I miss the bus every morning, Chicken.”
“Chicken,” she smiled and took his hand, “you haven’t called me that in ages,” she reminisced.
“Probably, five months,” he quipped.
“More,” she corrected him, “you stopped calling me ‘Chicken’ well before graduation.”
“Oh, stop it.”
“It’s aright,” she continued, “relationships change; you were my best friend.”
“After three years, I would hope so.”
“I guess we were more than best friends,” she grinned.
“Damn right, Chicky,” he said as he put his hand on her cheek, “come over here.”
The two began to kiss, but he stopped, “there is something I should tell you…”
“Shut up,” she insisted and began unbuttoning his cornflower blue oxford shirt.

The sun shined through the window onto Todd’s face. He put the pillow over his head and turned onto his side. Then he remembered Lorna; he felt for her, fruitlessly through the sheets of the double bed. “Was it a dream?” he wondered when he heard the shower begin to run in the bathroom. “Lorna?” he yelled across the room.
“I guess you weren’t kidding when you said you missed me,” she responded from the bathroom.
“Why? What are you taking about?” he inquired.
“I will show you when I get out of the shower.”
“Show me what?”
“I look like I just spent the night in jail,” she explained, “I have huge bruises…”
“Let me see,” he insisted.
“I’ll be out in a minute.”
“Lemme see,” he repeated.

Lorna emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a towel, her exposed cleavage covered in deep red hickeys which matched the dozen bites and bruises across her chest and arms. “Look at this, you can see the fingers…” she complained.
“Yikes, I’m sorry, sweetie.”
“You are an absolute brute,” she reprimanded him as she dropped the towel and crawled up from the foot of the bed, “an animal,” she continued as she climbed on top of him.
………………………..

The little square of red light flashed on the face of Todd’s cell phone. He flipped it open and read the text: “Tara: ditch your company, let’s fuck.” He flipped the phone shut and flushed the urinal in the filthy gas station bathroom.

“Do you know where we are, retard?” Lorna yelled out the window of the Kia.
“Chicky,” Todd responded as he shut the bathroom door, “how dare you.”
“You don’t know where we are.”
“Babygirl,” he shook his head, “I can’t believe what I’m hearin’.”
“Because you aren’t infamous for your absolute lack of direction,” she unfolded the giant map she had just purchased.
“Moi?” he turned the key in the ignition.
“What train will take you to the empire state building?” she tested him.
“The W… I don’t remember. It has been a minute since I’ve been…”
“You fucking interned two summers around the block from the Empire State Building.”
“I did?” he smiled.
“We had sex in the bathroom of the Au-Bon pain in the Empire State Building.”
“That’s right and now you’re gonna suck me off right here in wherever-the-hell-we-are, Oregon.” He commanded.
“Oh, yeah?” she questioned.
He settled the car into fifth gear and grabbed her wrist and twisted. She punched him in the chest and he squeezed.
“Alright,” she conceded, “just don’t fucking kill us when you cum.”
“You should be so lucky,” he countered.

At dusk the dark blue Kia pulled into the Shilo Inn at Newport, Oregon. Todd emptied the car while Lorna showered. “Let’s get dressed for dinner,” she suggested. The Italian waiter brought the couple whiskey cocktails in the restaurant overlooking the empty beach.

“You look ridiculously beautiful, Chicken Scratch,” he lifted her hand and kissed it softly.
“I wanted to wear my hair up,” she explained, “but I couldn’t because of somebody.”
“You look gorgeous, baby doll, just the way you are right now,” he assured her.
“Really?”
“Um-huh,” he replied.
“Well, I have finger imprints on the back of my neck, how am I supposed to explain that?”
“To whom need you explain?” he inquired.
“Are you ready,” the waiter asked in broken English.
“I think, I am,” Todd looked at Lorna.
“You go, honey, I’ll know in a minute – there are only two veggie dishes on the menu anyway…”
“I am having the steak, rare … bleeding,” Todd ordered.
“Excellent choice, signor,” the waiter said.
“Todd? I had no idea. I figured we would share…”
“I’ll have some of yours,” he told her.
“What’s better: the wild mushroom risotto or the capalini with marinara?” she asked the waiter.
“The risotto is excellent, signora.”
“Get the Talapia with linguine,” Todd instructed her.
“You know I don’t eat fish…”
“She’ll have the Talapia,” Todd assured the waiter.
“Todd!”
“C’mon, you’re on vacation; you eat fish,” he squeezed her hand under the table.
The waiter looked at her; she nodded.
“I think you’re gonna like the Talapia,” he assured her.
The waiter left the table and the two sat for a moment in silence. Lorna looked at Todd for a moment and he lifted his glass and smiled. She rolled her eyes as she lowered her gaze. He squeezed her knee and she squirmed as she tried to conceal a reluctant smile, “stop, you know how that tickles me.”
“How come there was no Talapia when I was a kid?” she continued.
“What do you mean?”
“Do ever remember seeing Talapia when you were little?”
“No, I don’t think so; cod, flounder, salmon, tuna, of course…”
“Its like they just discovered it five years ago or something,” she laughed and took a big gulp from her cocktail.

Lorna held Todd around the waist as they walked along the beach in the moonlight, but it soon began to mist.
“Fuckin, rain,” Todd complained, “Let’s go, Chickaroo.”
Lorna grabbed his wrist, “lets just go down by the water first,” she insisted and pulled his arm.
“No, its raining, Lor, let’s go up to the room and have a night cap and watch Saturday Night Live.”
“Is that show still on?” she handed him a flask, “here’s a nightcap, lush.”
He took a long swig and started toward the hotel.
“Well, I am going with or without you,” Lorna warned.
“You better not!”

Lorna began to run toward the coastline but Todd gave chase, overcame her and threw her onto the sand. Kneeling over her he pulled a steak knife out of his pocket and without a word put it to her neck. She grabbed him tightly and they started tonguing. He lowered the knife from her throat, placing it at the top of her neat mound of pubic hair and pressed the jagged end into her belly and scraped it down leaving a long, thin bloody trail.
…………………

The Rio sped along the cliffs in the gray rain toward the Sea Lion Cave in Florence. “Wait till you see the cave, Chicken, it’s amazing and horrible…”
“Horrible?”
“The sea lions are horrible, they have the worst existence imaginable: these soft blobs lying on these jagged rocks getting splashed with cold water all day,”
“Maybe they don’t mind it…”
“Oh, you’ll see – they are miserable creatures; completely pissed off.”
“When did you get into all this?” Lorna inquired.
“All what? Sea Lions? I’m not, I’ve just been to the cave…”
“This,” she reached into her tote and pulled out a white Interpol t-shirt; she stretched out a blood stained portion in front of him.
“Oh, that. When did YOU?” he countered.
“I’m not,” she began but corrected herself, “I mean I didn’t know I was.”
“Aren’t you? You certainly seem to be.”
“Its kinda fun; it’s a little scary,”
“For me, too,” he grinned.
“Really?”
“I was nervous on Friday night,”
“You didn’t seem nervous,”
“Concealed by the whiskey, I guess. I didn’t know if you were gonna be into it.”|
“I didn’t think I would, either, or I just never really considered it,” she looked contemplatively out the window and suddenly grabbed his arm, “pull over, let’s walk along that cliff.”

The Rio pulled off onto the side of the road and Lorna and Todd began to climb a small cliff that sat over the Pacific Ocean. “So you never said: how did you get into it?” Lorna insisted.
“Do you really wanna know?”
“Yeah, I do, I mean we each have or own lives now, and we should be able to talk about them, I mean your probably seeing people, I’m seeing someone else, its shouldn’t be that bigga deal…”
“Who are you seeing?”
“It’s no one, really,” she explained.
“No, it’s like you said: we can talk about this stuff,” he insisted.
“He’s just some guy,”
“He goes to your school?”
“No, no. He goes to Columbia Law, so we rarely see each other, really.”
“Hmmm; Columbia Law,” he repeated her almost to himself and continued, “What’s his name?” Todd asked.
“No, it’s your turn: when did you learn that you were a dominant?” Lorna asked.
“A dominant? I just like to mess around, I’m not like registered with any clubs or anything…”
“You know what I mean,” she continued.
“I met this kinda crazy chick at a bar one night,” he began.
“Do you still see her?”
“Lorna…”
“No tell me, I wanna know, what does she like, tell me,” she slid her fingers slowly across the front of his jeans, “does she like to be tied up?”
“She likes when I grab her by the neck.”
“Show me.”
He put his hands around her neck, she slackened her body and exhaled, “does she like you to shake her, like a rag doll, by the neck?”
Todd began to shake her.
“Does she like to get on her knees when she sucks your dick? Does she like for you to fuck her from behind?” she asked excitedly.
He tightened his grip on her neck, held her still and looked coldly into her eyes. “No, is that how Columbia Law likes it?” he asked as he pushed her off the edge of the cliff; her head smashing open against the rocky ground below.

Todd put his glasses on and squinted at the rocky ground below. Due to the formation of the cliff (the peak stood above an indentation in the rock wall) he couldn’t see the body which had fallen inward, except for one twisted shoeless foot; sock covered in a splash of blood.

Todd surveyed the rock wall and hastily chose a path downward. He took the edge where the he would only have a slight inward angle to traverse in order to get to a flat spot from which he could jump the last 10 or 11 feet. He let himself fall, as his pocket began to vibrate and the otherworldly, digital beeping caught him unaware. He hit the ledge and stumbled, falling down onto the rocks a few yards from Lorna’s body.

Todd excitedly attempted to rise but a stinging sensation ran through his right leg. He looked down and saw that his femur was severed and sticking through his jeans. His cell phone continued to ring but it was out of reach. Soon the tide claimed it as the cold waves splashed over and eventually covered Todd’s immobile body.

Stewart's New Friend

At the One Dollar Dream, Stewart eyed an odd looking boy. His arms looked short and mushy like uncooked dough, his legs were twisted under his baggy jeans and he was sitting in a wheel chair. “Hey, I like the Jets, too,” Stewart remarked shyly, noticing the boys Jets Jersey and straight rimmed Jets cap worn to the side of his head. “What?” the disabled boy asked. Stewart turned and walked away.

The sound of a small motor squealed as the wheel chair rolled up behind Stewart.
“I said: ‘what’, motherfucker, you deaf?” the boy demanded.
“No,” Stewart replied and whispered “asshole,” under his breath.
“You think I’m not gonna fuck you up, Stewart. Even in this chair I could fuck you up. You, at least, Stewart Gregory,” the by warned.

“How do you know my name?” Stewart asked. “Everybody knows who you are, you’re that kid that got stuck in the sewer tunnel for three days. Fucking celebrity; think you’re hot shit, ha?” the boy responded.
“No, I just got stuck,” Stewart replied.

“You prolly think I wanna be your best friend, cause I’m in a wheel chair – you prolly think you’re some kinda celebrity and everyone has to suck your limp dick,” the boy continued berating Stewart.
“No, no, I don’t think I am so great and I already have a best friend and he drives a Monte Carlo Super Sport.” Stewart countered.

“Those cars suck, that’s some guido shit,” the boy said.
“Look, I’m sorry I bothered you, okay. I just wanted to ask a kinda weird favor,” Stewart explained.
“What?” the boy asked.
“Can I touch your arm; the one that’s not finished?” Stewart spoke in a whisper.
“It’s finished, bitch, that’s all I got.”
“Oh. So can I?” Stewart continued.
“What are you? Some kinda faggot weirdo?” the boy asked.
“No, I went to counseling with Father Leary. For eight months. So...” Stewart explained.
“You have to come to my house and hang out with me. And bring ice cream. And a Huslter and 2 40’s and a Camo. Then maybe…” the boy replied.

An attractive middle aged woman in stretch pants answered the door. “Oh you must be Nathan’s new friend. What’s in the bag?” she asked referring to the grocery bag Stewart was holding.
“Just some stuff,” Stewart explained as the woman looked inside.
“Oh, that’s a lot of beer,” she said.
“It’s malt liquor,” Stewart corrected her.
“Well, Nate’s not supposed to drink beer, really, so I’ll take one of these so he doesn’t overdo it,” she said as she opened the forty ounce bottle of Old English and poured some into a coffee mug with a cartoon of a man operating a printing press out of which dollars were flying, and the words: “still working on my first million” printed above the graphic.
“I might should take this, too,” she said as she grabbed the tall aluminum can of Camo.

Nathan was in his room, in a large recliner, watching Scarface. “You like this?” Nathan asked.
“I never saw this. Is Mel Gibson gonna be in it, I like him.”
“He ain’t even in this; never.” Nathan assured him, “but this shit is bad ass. Say ello to my leetel friend!”

Stewart handed Nathan the 40; Nathan placed it snuggly in his lap, pressed against his abdomen and twisted the cap off with his one “good” hand, which was fully formed but misaligned with the rest of his boney arm.
“Yo, I gotta good movie, if you like good movies,” Nathan gestured toward his closet, “look in there. Hey were the hell’s my Camo?” he asked as he peered into the grocery bag.

Underneath a pile of damp clothes and towels Stewart discovered a dvd box. The cover showed a dumpster full of beautiful women covered in a translucent white liquid with the title: Cum Dumpster.

“That look’s just like Dakota,” Stewart commented referring to one of the actresses. “You know that bitch?” Nathan asked.
“Yeah, she’s on my mom’s stories. Or at least that looks like her.”
“You know what we should do, Stewart? We should go to New York City or Hollywood or wherever they make that show and we should find that chick and then I could fuck her.”
“Yeah, we could see if Tito will drive us in his Monte Carlo Super Sport,” Stewart added.

“Yo, I could use a good fucking right now, you know?” Nathan said.
“Yeah, me too, I guess,” Stewart agreed.
“You got any money? I know this chick that lives near here. If you got some money…”
“I got…” Stewart took various bills and coins from different pockets of his pants and jacket, “$11.66; is that enough?”
“Hell no. Remember I said you could touch my arm? I’ll let you touch my jimmy, too, okay?”
“I don’t know, Nathan. I’m not supposed to do that kinda stuff.”
“C’mon dude, it takes like three second,” Nathan argued.
“Why don’t you put peanut butter on it?” Stewart suggested.
“What the hell goods that gonna do?”
“Cause then the dog will lick it off,” Stewart explained.
“I don’t have a damn dog, asshole. You should lick it off.”
Stewart looked at Nathan who was rubbing his lap with his twisted hand. “I’ll be right back,” he told him. Stewart returned with his dog on a leash. “I brought my dog to hang out, too,” he told Nathan’s mom and asked her, “do you have any peanut butter?”
“Crunchy or smooth? I keep both kinds,” she replied.
“Smooth, please.”

“Your mom is really nice,” Stewart told Nathan.
“You wanna fuck my mom. I know you do,” Nathan replied.
“I dunno, maybe, she’s really pretty.”
“You can never fuck my mom, she only dates guys with muscles. Plus you’re a total pussy and you’d prolly cream in your pants before you had the chance to do anything.”
“That’s not so bad,” Stewart said.
“I don’t care you could fuck my mom all day long if she let you, but she wouldn’t let you. Plus my dad will kill you when he comes back. He’s a trained killer; I saw him break a guys nose at Red Lobsters.”
“Comes back from where?” Stewart asked.
“From the CIA. He’s a trained assassin – black ops, so he’s been gone for a long time, but when he comes back he’s gonna get me a Wii. And prolly a Corvette, too.”
“That’s awesome, I wish my dad was coming back,” Stewart remarked.
“Your dad is probably dead, maybe. Or in jail. He might want to come home, othwerwise.” Nathan offered and then continued, “Fuck it, anyway. Wanna watch the Jets game?”
“Yeah! I love the Jets; I hope they score a thousand goals!” Stewart yelled.

Sock Revolution

There was a time not long ago when I would have a lady visitor to my humble home and she would reveal, upon removing her sexy high boots, a pair of little running socks or “peds”. It was as if her socks were a secret, not meant to be seen or thought about, perhaps in an effort to avoid detracting from the sexy high boots and the potentially naked feet hidden therein.

But there has been a growing trend in the last few years (currently reaching a fever pitch) that I can only describe as “sock pride”. Young ladies and older woman alike have taken to purposefully revealing the once hidden socks. They have kept the sexy high boots (thank God) but now they are adorned with socks above the rim. The message is clear: “Look at me America! I’m wearing socks, gosh darn it and I don’t care who knows it!”

And often these socks are thick and colorful, and just as often worn over other socks or leggings, as if to compensate for all those closet years of shame and duplicity. Well, I for one applaud this trend. Good for you ladies! No one can stop you from showing pride in your socks. In retrospect this revelation of undergarments is much classier than the exposed thong of yester years. And for the sexually active set or perverts who mourn the loss of visible skin, you might look at this extra layer of foot wear as another item of clothing to remove seductively during foreplay.

One has to wonder if this exposed sock trend has anything to do with the economic downturn or the return of the democrats to the White House. Most economist and political theorists say, no, and I for one whole-heartedly agree.

orgone accumulator

Stewart Shuffles off to Buffalo (part 2)

The police put Stewart into a holding cell with several other men. Stewart was nervous and had to defecate in the toilet in front of everyone.
“What the fuck are you looking at?” a 16 year old kid asked Stewart. Stewart looked away and gulped, “well, you seem kinda young, what are you doing in here?”
“I took this kids jacket. What?” he yelled in Stewart's face; his breath smelled like malt liquor.

In the interrogation room the policemen asked Stewart about hitting the homeless person with his car. Stewart tried to answer but he was crying and couldn’t breathe. One of the cops was wearing a Buffalo Bills jersey and a thick mustache, “And what do we have here?” he asked as he removed a skinny joint from a large manila folder containing Stewart’s property. “You’re going away from a long time, asshole,” the other cop said; he was wearing a Buffalo Sabres jersey and also had a mustache.

Later, the public defender told him it was good that he didn’t say anything because the prosecution’s only witness was a transient old woman who claimed that her Cabbage Patch doll had seen the whole thing. “It’s inadmissible,” the lawyer told Stewart, “and they can’t really arrest you for having a catnip cigarette.”
“I wanted to look cool at the Gin Blossoms concert but marijuana makes me feel really weird,” Stewart explained.

After being released Stewart drove directly to the Great Wolf Lodge Indoor Water Park in Ontario. As he was originally going to the Gin Blossom’s concert he hadn’t packed swim trunks, so he wore his blue jeans. At the top of the big slide a man in a speed-o and a bathing cap introduced himself as Teddy, “my friends call me Teddy bear,” he told Stewart, “you can call me Teddy bear.”

“Anthony Robbins is a faggot,” Teddy told Stewart, “and I’ll tell you what, he don’t know dick about shit. Anybody who goes to those self-help conferences is probably a queer faggot.”

“You know what you should do, buddy, you needa get yourself the Bible, you don’t need none of that fake fire-walking bullshit. I have an extra Bible in my car for you, Stewart,” Teddy told Stewart as the water park closed. Teddy drove a late model Ford pick-up. “That’s a Hemi in there, Stewart,” he bragged.

In the dark parking lot, Teddy handed Stewart the Bible and then grabbed the side of his face and started kissing him. Stewart put his arms around Teddy and Teddy pulled away and punched Stewart in the face, “fucking faggot! I knew it, gimme that book.” Teddy grabbed the Bible and then pushed Stewart to the ground and kicked him in the ribs when a group of people approached a car parked a few spaces down. Teddy jumped into his pick-up, yelling, “you see what happens when you mess with the Teddy bear, faggot. Now, you see! Whoa!” then he spit on Stewart and drove away.

After sleeping thru his alarm Stewart awoke in his hotel room with a pounding headache, soar ribs and a black eye. There was a voice mail on the hotel phone from the platinum blonde with the scorpion tattoo on her lower back, “I’m looking for a loser named Stewart; this is Lorna form the ads at Big Mack’s Adult bookshop. Sewart better call me back or else.” Stewart got excited. He called her back but got the answering machine, again.

Having slept thru the morning session of the seminar Stewart drove toward downtown hoping to catch the second-half; however, he passed a movie theater that was showing Lethal Weapon 2 and decided to see the film, instead. Stewart bought Skittles at the concession stand and noticed that the cashier had platinum blonde hair. When she bent over to get the Skittles her sweater rode up her back and Stewart caught a peek of a scorpion tattoo on her lower back.

Stewart felt unable to breath and could hardly speak. “Thanks,” he whispered when she handed him the Skittles: she had long silver nails with diamonds embedded in them; he wondered if they were real. He stood paralyzed by the public phones trying to gather the courage to say something.

In the middle of Lethal Weapon 2, while Mel Gibson was being outrageous, brave and caring, a very tall man sat next to Stewart. After a few minutes the man spoke to him, “Stewart, why don’t you just say hello to her?” The man was almost seven feet tall and looked jut like Tony Robbins in the dark theater.
“Tony Robbins? Is that you?” Stewart asked.
“I go by many names, Stewart. What really matters is that you realize that I am within you and that the power that you see in me, is your power, your personal power,” the man responded.
“My friend Teddy says you’re gay.” Stewart replied.
“I appear in many different forms according to one’s level of understanding. The wise person sees me in all things and all things in me. The key to personal power is to feel my presence within. Would you like to feel me inside you, Stewart?” the man asked.

Stewart rose from his seat and ran into the lobby to the concession stand. “Lorna? I’m Stewart!” he told the cashier. “Meet me at 4:30, right here,” she ordered him.

At 4:30 Stewart met Lorna and they went back to her place. She had all sorts of gadgets and contraptions that he had never seen before and she tied him up and blackened his other eye; Stewart was smitten. “I’m only gonna charge you half,” she told him afterward; one hundred and twenty dollars.

After packing his things at the hotel, Stewart called Tito, who was sitting in his Monte Carlo SS smoking a Parliament Menthol. “Dude, I have a girlfriend!” he told Tito. “Oh really, what’s his name?” Tito responded and continued, “Dude, I only got ten minutes for break, I don’t have time for your bullshit stories,” Tito replied.
“No, seriously she’s totally hot – she’s has a tattoo of a scorpion on her lower back.” Stewart countered.
“She probably has AIDS.” Tito said.
“She doesn’t have AIDS,” Stewart said.
“Oh, man now my car phone probably has AIDS on it, from your slutty girlfriend.” Tito continued, “I gotta go, my mom said not to talk to people with AIDS, dude.”
“Dude, take it back,” Stewart demanded.
“Gotta go dude, the dishes are piling up.” Tito told him.

Airport security took Stewart into a small room for questioning on account of his two black eyes. Stewart explained the circumstances and he was released, with the warning, “domestic abuse is very serious, young man; you ought to look into some counseling.”

On the plane, the flight attendant announced that the in-flight movie was Fool’s Gold. “Sweet, everything’s coming up Stewart!” Stewart congratulated himself. The man sitting next to him was reading Awakening the Giant Within by Tony Robbins. “Hey, did you go to the seminar?” Stewart asked him. “Changed my mother fucking life, bitch,” the man assured him.
“He canceled the afternoon session today?” Stewart asked.
“No, he didn’t cancel shit,” the man answered.
“But I saw him at Lethal Weapon 2, at 1:30, he sat next to me and gave me some great advice,” Stewart said.
“No, he didn’t,” the man explained, “because he was holding it down at the convention center all afternoon. And I would advise you not to talk any more shit about Tony Robbins or I’ll kill you and then I’ll sue you for a million dollars, biotch.”

Fight Rough Cut #2