By Patrick Alcatraz
SANTA FE, New Mexico - "Hurry," she said as the late-hours moved and I made my way into the bathroom. "Brush that alcohol off your breadth." There was a strong aroma, yes. Darlene was an educated woman who had some sort of standard for her bedmates. About my hair, she did - or said - little. But she liked to have me wear clean shirts and some semblance of a cologne.
I flipped the bathroom light switch and reached for my toothbrush and a tube set on the small shelf above the old sink below the cracked mirror. Outside, the snow fell in neat thin and thick blankets. My heart raced while my brain threw images of gorgeous love-making from wall to wall inside my grass-whorled skull. Doing Darlene seemed the thing to do in the middle of a snowfall. I walked out of the bathroom.
"Kiss me," she said, and I did.
"Ummmmmm," she shot back, laughing. "Nothing like a Brylcreem kiss in winter."
I never again left that tube of Brylcreem alongside my tube of Colgate toothpaste. Alcohol forgives pretty much every damned thing...
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