Monday, May 14, 2012

No Photos, Please...

Image courtesy of Twelve Bitter Peaches
No photography permitted...I wonder why?



    Dens of iniquity do not photograph well. The lighting is inadequate for one thing; the clientel are unseemly. And all you ever get are hands or backs of hands; faces hidden behind a pulled up leather collars.

    There is always a ritual being scheduled. A sacrifice or offering every Tuesday. The bowling league was disbanded because no one had the balls to set the pins. But it didn't matter anyway. Mephistophelese always checked the door. And how do you get a camera past a six-foot-seven-inch dude with a goat head?

    Besides, he never photographed well.

    His girl Shirley did however take a mavelous picture. Albeit, san clothing. They were never sure of the connection, but she had earned the nickname "Whore of Babylon".

    But, the enigma in this whole soiree was "Pops".
    Eighty-three, slightly balding and hunched back, a very pronounced limp as a result, defined the proprietor, "Pops". The kicker was his soiled "Highway to Hell" concert tee with the sleeves rolled to reveal his "Born to Raise Lazarus" tatoo.

    A motley crew for sure, but they were a private lot here in Salem. They held a wicked grudge. Just be sure to not piss them off. Or take their picture!

  2. This was awesome -- I really liked the way the tone of the piece matched the setting. The phrasing had a sneer imbedded, along with a sense of humor. Really enjoyed reading it.