Thursday, On The Boardwalk

She looked at me through her Louis Vuitton bag. She had cut two eyeholes in the bottom of it and was looking through the thing as if it was a pair of binoculars that used to cost thousands of dollars.

“It must be difficult to keep your pill bottles in there, what with the holes,” I stated in the perfect way I have of stating the obvious.

“I don’t keep my pill bottles in this bag,” she said. She flashed her glazed eyes through the frosted glass of her Louis Vuitton sunglasses. Her lips looked like an oil tanker had run aground there and then sprayed KY all over the place either as a way to hold the mess in, or as a perverse ‘fuck the world’ statement on top of destruction already laid out. The reflected summer sun was blinding what with all of that glimmer and shine.

“This is my spy bag,” she said with a tone that was part sleepy, German schoolboy and part Rick James.

I was about to ask what she needed a spy bag for when she pulled out a yellow paisley handkerchief and a bottle of chloroform. I calmly watched her pour some chloroform on the handkerchief, place the bottle back in her spy bag and approach me with the damp rag.

Okay, it was one of those moments like when you see in movies and you cannot believe it’s actually happening and you sort of freeze in disbelief; like when someone threatens you with a weapon and asks for your money, or when a car spins out of control and flips and everyone gets out okay, or when two heavily made up ladies with enormous breasts go down on you at the same time.

I watched her approach and put the rag over my mouth and nose. I put up very little resistance as I couldn’t believe it was actually happening. By the time my fighting instincts were aroused, it was too late. I could feel the strength running out of my limbs.

She looked at me calmly as my eyelids got heavier and heavier, and she whispered, “I make the most amazing meatloaf.”

I looked at her with my best bewildered look.

“I use ground chuck, it’s gotta be ground chuck, and a little ground pork for flavor. But my secret ingredient…”

I tried to hold on, I really wanted to hear what her secret ingredient was. But alas, I went under without hearing a thing, and with only the smell of yellow paisley to keep me company.