She had deep blue eyes and glasses, glasses that made her look sharp as a pencil. She caught my gaze and captivated me, kept me breathless for a minute, not quite sure why but the eyes were a factor. A nice, pearly white smile, performed as if it were a trick she learned, with ease but no conviction. She stood snatch deep in pot, wading through it like a muddy pond and still with the smile. Half a moon hung idle in the sky, wondering what way was up, yes, it was one of those days. If anything, you'd think that somebody dropped his coffee on some cables somewhere and I got connected with the wrong reality. By the time she reached the border of the pot-pool I noticed that she wasn't wearing much more than a t-shirt and panties with a pot-colour crotch. If I would stop staring at her crotch, she asks, still with the zombie smile giving me the creeps. I tell her that if her crotch was always that shade of green, she might want to see a doctor. A tall black man wearing gloves pushes me back into a dandy, white leather couch and I curse. She inquired if I knew who the fuck she was, as if that even mattered, let's start with the basics, who the fuck am I? The tall black man offers me a scotch, two ice cubes and a very nice glass.

Two dogs perform a little dance, one of them tries to sing a little tune to go with it but obviously singing is not a dog thing. You might even wonder why all those rappers keep calling out for their dogs, the creatures have no sense of rhyming and no idea what rhythm is.
What exactly I wanted, she asked, whether I was just there to gratuitously stare at her ass or if we could do business. I wouldn't mind staring a little while longer quite honestly, hell, I could stare the day away if she didn't mind. The black man took position behind me and suddenly the couch got a lot less comfortable, the dogs still dancing, like anybody really cared. She informs me that her questions are meant to be rhetorical and that if I knew what was best for me, I'd best not come up with any more cute answers from now on. For a second I wonder if I should come back with a witty comment on that as well but the big black guy suddenly grabs my shoulders. I inquire for the prices of her product and her services while one of the dogs sniffs the bum of the other one, I barely manage to suppress my laughter, that seemed more like the stereotypical rapper behaviour. The drink I had went straight to my head, I wonder if she spiked it or if maybe some of the stuff I did earlier just kicked in, I'd find out by the speed at which I'd hit the floor. The moon finally decides to take a short break and retreats behind a nice thick pack of clouds, cheeky lass, I was just getting excited too. Things get a lot hazier from there on in.

If memory serves, she put on some music to get the dogs to finally shut up, something lounge without lyrics, easy to listen to and easy to tune out during a discussion. The big black guy brought along a table which was then slowly covered bit by bit with different types of narcotics, ranging from soft drugs to hard drugs, uppers, downers, hallucinogenics, any kind of high you were looking for, she had just the thing. Clearly anybody looking to get properly fucked up would feel like he just found paradise. I was just thoroughly confused though, being as how I was already properly fucked up. It smelled like I took an ice-scoop and a cone, scooped up some of my brains into the cone and licked off the bits that trickled down the sides of it, succulent. My mind was just bouncing off the walls, it got hard to focus on any one thing and anything shiny or anything moving was enough to reset the entire thought process. I suppose it needs no further explanation to understand that the discussion with the lovely green-crotched lady suffered severely from my state of mind. Considering that I suspected her of spiking my drink I found it very inconsistent of her to hold it against me though. Hard to say how long I had been staring at her ass again, time had long since ceased to follow a clear linear path, which is my favourite time of day or times of day, whatever best describes the situation. Careful what you wish for, you hear these words more often but far too rarely do you hear them just before some hard-body vixen in high-heels, a t-shirt and panties walks up to you, puts her right foot on the side of the couch and grabs the hair on the back of your head to powerfully thrust your face into her crotch. Deep breaths, deep breaths and just rubbing my face full force into the holiest of holies. For a minute I forget everything else around me.

Two blinks of an eye later she's sitting across the table, legs crossed and a severe frown lining her glasses, I check for the dogs to figure out what the hell just happened and if maybe, just maybe, going to town on my brain tissue with a giant sledgehammer left its marks. For a minute things slowed down considerably, I rubbed my face with both hands to retrieve traces of sensation of the mystery that just took place, I could still smell her but it could also just be some other chick’s juices fermenting under my fingernails, damn it, I need to wash my hands a bit more often, filthy son of a gun. What I really got to say is, if that’s how people are going to get down, how are we ever going to get up. Somebody’s got to make a change. It was one of those days.