Golden Ghettos - Part 1

I hand the driver a ten spot and step out into the night. I act like I am waltzing down some fancy-ass red carpet – like all eyes are on me. Me, me, me… Traffic sounds from the outer belt echo through the suburban development as butterflies surge in my stomach. Dark aviators hide the wonder and excitement in my eyes. I pop the collar on my buckskin trench and strut my stuff down the block. The wind blows through my hair just nice. “So fucking Eastwood.” I mumble to myself and smirk. I make my way down to the library where the community theater is doing their weekly dress rehearsal for an upcoming performance of ‘Our Town’. I bum around outside for a few minutes, gnawing on a toothpick and obsessing about fame. A half hour later I am trailing some of the cast down the street and into Monroe’s bar and grill. I initiate small talk with random members of the production, pretending that it is my birthday in hopes to make some new friends and maybe even get laid. This one bird seems to be enjoying a story I am telling about how I injured myself in the park while attempting a bicycle kick during a pickup soccer match with some high school kids. The devastating injury was a huge blow to my ego and resulted in a wicked case of turf toe. She quickly excused herself once I dropped my Dockers to show her the yellowish bruise covering my thighs and the majority of my buttocks. I don’t think she had seen anything like that before - all of those tiny purple spider veins branching out across my alabaster flesh. It left her totally breathless.