April 19, 2007
Originally published June 10, 2004
Here is a study in light and shadow taken somewhere on Folly Beach. I fell in love with the bartender at that place. On a scale of one-to-ten, she was a solid eleven--- and I was NOT drunk and staring through beer goggles when I made that assessment. She was that goddam pretty.
Everything about her was PERFECT--- perfect teeth, perfect smile, perfect hair, perfect ass, perfect legs, just enough boobery to make everything symmetrical and pretty feet in dainty sandals, too. If she only painted her toenails red, she'd be a legitimate twelve in my book.
Unfortunately, she's 24 years old. She's a magnet for the beach-hunks, the surfers with the six-pack abs and all the faggot-looking, pretty boys who resemble stars in soap operas. They all swarm around her like moths on a porch light. An old fart philosopher such as myself, with a scraggly gray silver beard and a racoon-mask suntan on my face from wearing sunglasses every time I'm outside just doesn't stand a chance in her league.
That's just as well. She's too young to appreciate my expertise in bed and the money in my wallet my worldly wisdom. That kind of stuff is wasted on
I'm going to let the beard grow for a while. I never enjoyed shaving every day to begin with, and now I don't have to, so I don't. I kinda like the beatnick, burnt-out hippie look. It fits me like a warm glove. I tried to be bohemian once before in my life, but I was in MY TWENTIES then and I didn't understand how to do it right.
I know better now.
I'll hand out some more philosophy while I'm in my bohemian mood. Here's something for all you beautiful young ladies to think about: GO TO BED WITH AN OLDER MAN. PREFERABLY ME!!! You need to do that one thing as a true life-expanding experience.
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