after six years in the French Foreign Legion, I’d had it. one night I put on
the civvies I had stashed, & I started walking. I wore thru two pairs of
boots before I’d walked far enough, & I would have run across the ocean
if possible. Jesus walked on water, but I didn’t have the pedigree for it, so
I wrangled an executive position on a tramp steamer. the pay wouldn’t
support a girl scout on a saliva diet, but it got me out of the Port of Bayonne.
 
six months later I was living in a dive in L.A. I hung out at a pink neon strip
joint, getting free drinks for helping Tommy the bartender toss out unruly
johns. & I would watch Rayne, as she twirled around the pole, her fiery hair
trailing behind like the exhaust  from a girl-shaped flame-thrower. she was
attracted to the unfading desert tan I’d acquired during my Legion service.
 
turns out, we were good together. it wasn’t just a quickie when we did the
horizontal tango. it was much deeper, a place there’s no name for, because
most people never get there.
 
real soon, we were introduced to a stranger called love, although he changed
his name when he moved to our neighborhood. we didn’t question it, we just
selfishly snared it in our stone-washed libidos. when you feel that good
without liquor or dope, you don’t let go.
 
the world was suddenly a candy-apple circus, & I was the ringmaster. & I
prayed. prayed that it would last a little while, like maybe a hundred years.
needless to say, the prayers of a bum like me hold no weight whatsoever.
 
one night I came home & found her packing. she told me her story. She
met an agent who was taking a few girls to a top-notch club in the Mexican
Riviera, & she was invited. then she held me tight, her tears starting up like
a busted faucet. she said, ‘if you want me to stay, I’ll stay, baby. f*ck that
guy. just tell me to stay & I will!’
 
could I let her pass up a golden gig like that? I told her to go. I told her
whores like her were a dime a dozen. I’d have another one here before the
sheets were cold… then I turned & walked to the window. I couldn’t let her
see me cry.
 
as she walked out the door, I had one last, lousy thought – of all the hearts
in all the bums in all this broken down world, she had to fall into mine…
 
 
[apologies to the writers of ‘Casablanca.’]