AnalogMojo


based on a true story (a letter to ashley in italy)
March 4, 2009, 1:15 am
Filed under: Uncategorized

the lights played on the slick street stones, cavorting this way and that in their festive yellows, oranges, and reds. the walker pushed a damp lock back from his temple, his bright intelligent eyes searching the darkness. the pupils stopped their dancing to rest in the hollow of a neck. it belonged to a woman who milled about with the other inhabitants of this late hour. clad in a transparent robe with a gold braid tracing the diagonal of her torso, and delicate, if not dirty and well worn sandals; she would not have caught his eye if not for the lightness in his stomach when his eyes found that hollow. still unaware of the gaze of the now watcher paused under the drooping canvas over a junk sellers wares, she placed a hand on her hip and began turning this way and that. it was clear she was looking, whether is was to notice something or to be noticed herself it was unclear. there was a hitch in the grace of her movements are she became aware that she was being watched. her eyes took in his long hair which hung in damp ropes about his face and spilled down his back, the torn muddy hem of his robes, and the dry cracked feet strapped in sandals so threadbare and worn they hardly deserved the title. she stopped looking. with a light playing in her eyes that bore no similarity to those of the street, she sauntered over to him and spoke. “hola papi, where are you from? you look like you speak french: voulez vouscoucher avec moi c’est soi? my name is maria magdalena and i promise you won’t forget it in the morning.” at her words his pupils moved themselves away from that hollow and proceeded to trace the outline of her face. a sardonic smile played over the face of the watcher, and the man finally spoke. “my name is jesus of nazareth, but you can call me mo’ bitches. i do speak french and would surely like to sleep with you tonight. i’ve been wandering in the desert for some time now, so i don’t have much money, but i am the only begotten son of god, is there a savior’s discount? i promise to make up for what i lack in money in other ways. i may even turn some water into wine if you play nice.” she wasn’t quite sure how to respond to this, but it was a recession and she needed the money, so she quickly came up with a figure, which he accepted, and they moved off down the street towards one of the doorways festooned with swinging red lanterns. little did they know they’d be main characters in the best selling book in human history. the end.

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