Blue Taxi

The sounds of blue Nikes squeaking on marble fade in his mind. He wanders the neighborhood lost in thought while Young Dawn’s fingertips of rose dig knuckle deep into the day.

He reaches the boulevard where schools of taxis carry lovers and drunks home. The bleary eyed slouch in ripped back seats avoiding Young Dawn’s prying hands with tipped caps and closed eyes. He thinks to follow suit, “I might as well go home.”

The cool air causes his nose to run. He absentmindedly wipes the dribbles from his mustache with the back of his hand. Her scent arcs across membrane and synapse. She lay crumpled on the bed with the covers avariciously wound around her body. He follows the twisted curves through strange dusky lands full of joy and despair.

A blue taxi breaks from the school and slows down to measure his intentions as he stands on the corner. The passenger window glides open. “Uptown Mate?” He reaches for her keys in a gesture that spooks the driver. That settles that.

He arrives back to her apartment as Young Dawn’s crimson soaked claws tear off the day’s skirt and panties. He fumbles with the locks. The key still fits. She looks up dreamily from the knot of bedclothes. Whatcha doin? He mumbles “Blue Taxi.” She says, “Come back to bed.”

He kicks off his Blue Nikes and carelessly tosses his clothes in a heap at the foot of her bed. As he peels a blanket off her body, he wonders why the blue taxi swam away.

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