made a head count tonight, and it turns out i have 75 secrets.

only one of them concerns the blood moon.

a fitting number, considering what’s waiting for us all this morning.

sadly, as the definition for secret goes, this story is not for sale.

although, far as circumstances go, i can reveal what’s good for the gander: a nowhere kind of no place in Brooklyn. an honest dive somewhere between the polished neighborhoods off the L and the collective rumors of Sunset Park. boring sort of bartender. the kind with a job to do. tattoos worth a mention or two. blue neon hue. almost empty save for a silent couple in one tattered booth. three rounds into a beer, shot of Beam to help the medicine go down. jukebox alive with miscommunication.

dropped a cigarette on the floor and stooped down below the handrail for a cold recovery. came back up with an unexpected prize: brass ring. not Army, Navy, or Marines – embalm of a broken heart, split in half by a skeleton key. shame to waste it. slipped it on my left ring finger and ordered another round.

well into a two a.m. buzz when she strode on in. dirty blond curls bouncing to the beat of well-heeled boots. burgundy lipstick. not a lot of eye left to peek out from behind all that shadow. jeans taut against teardrop hips. tan suede jacket a mess with Southwestern tassels. brisk stride taking her all the way to my side of the argument.

she took a seat and stared at me. irises radiant with streaks of green and yellow.

asked if i was going to buy her a drink or sit there with my dick in my hand.

i put my dick away and bought her a beer, Beam back.

she took the shot down before i could join her.

she wiped with the entirety of her forearm, nails painted black, and said, it didn’t go down as planned.

i nodded. had a few swallows of beer. waited.

what do you want me to say? she asked, lighting her own cigarette. time, temperature? winds out of the fucking southeast? it did. not. go. as. planned.

i shrugged. nothing ever does.

that’s it? she asked.

i don’t know if we’ve really been introduced.

she paused, bottle just one instant from her lips. oh, shit… she took down half her beer and motioned with her eyes. Where did you get that?

i followed her gaze. Same place you got yours. Bartender.

not your beer, idiot. the ring. the ring on your finger.

i had almost forgotten. found it.

shit. she drew me close. gave a brief glimpse of what she looked like in her sleep, before pressing her mouth to mine.

i remember thinking thank you as the kiss softened and surrendered the taste of fresh whiskey. her hands wandered over my body. i reflexively followed. gave her thighs the attention they deserved. welcomed a brief interlude, her forehead pressed against mine. eyes crossed, heavy. fixated, as she held my face with those hands and whispered with a breathless tenor, they’re watching us.

the who was buried beneath another immortal kiss.

this one with a tongue so sublime, i finally had to admit it had no place along my lips. opened one eye to find she was doing the same. running recognizance, somewhere past my right shoulder. i broke away. turned my face from perfection to see for myself.

that couple in the faraway booth were both, yes, watching us. staring. blank, analytical looks. jaws slowly working. open then closed, then open, as though wind ups were casually clashing cymbals between their cheeks.

don’t, she whispered into my ear. keep going. don’t stop.

the man in the booth reached out blindly to his female counterpart and took a bite out of her arm.

i watched with an alcoholic’s distant understanding. faraway places reminding me that this woman’s hands were still clutching at my inner thighs. blood dripping from that stranger’s face as he stood, slowly, jukebox flipping the intro to Fat Bottomed Girls. strange moment where the bartender proved as lost as i was, wandering up with another pair of shots and casually asking

hey, Delilah, you gonna stay up for the blood moon tonight…?

the stranger let that piece of his girlfriend’s arm fall from his mouth onto the dirty floor, where it bounced. just once.

he began to walk towards us, smiling.

and i really wanted to kiss Delilah again, one last time. or several more last times, either/or would have been better than this.

i turned back with the full intention of ignoring every last thing since we last stopped.

too late. already her eyes were fixed. cigarette clamped between her teeth. reaching beneath the bar’s outcrop and searching.

and as i heard the sound of tape ripping away from whatever implement she had planted, and the stranger’s hands turned to wild tendrils, taking the form of gleaming razor blades, all i could think to ask her was when would we be seeing each other again.

…the rest is REDACTED

except to say that the ring disappeared from my finger, and the moon was blood red at midday.

###

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so long and thanks for all the pish.