Distract Them

That night, she says, you distract them and I’ll take their wallets. Didn’t realize distraction meant a vision of fucking Alfred E. Neuman while reciting names of film directors to keep me from vomiting up forty seven shots of whiskey and ten pitchers of beer. Or Texas and the bath when I thought I was safe, a key in the lock and nothing but the fear maybe kept me alive. I still think of him stroking himself on the toilet and my mind racing when he said, this is what people like you do to people like me. Or hours before when I sucked a dick for cash to get nowhere. The van, my wig, sleep, and hands in there. I could never understand what I had done to deserve all this glamorous attention. Just lean back.