Red-Light District.

“I met a man in Paris. He was an older gent in a smoky dive bar, underground. After a half a minute convo, he unveiled his pièce de résistance. Said he was a Movie Producer.” “What did you say?” “I don’t remember. ‘I don’t give a fuck,’ comes to mind. I just remember flashing red…

Noose.

“I’m convinced I don’t want you on the road trip with me this time.” “Why is that?” “Because you’ll control everything and I have my own set of records, thanks.” “But who’s going to record you?” “The noose around your neck.”  

She-Wasp.

I remember the gigantic bugs in his basement where he plugged me whole through tears. Not once, but three times. Blood and all. They were satanic concoctions of this spider / cockroach / wasp hybrid. He shooed one on the keyboard in front of me that I was using to stalk his matrixyclical conversations. Wholly…