EXTRAORDINARY PROFOUND ICONOCLASTIC
EXTRAORDINARY PROFOUND ICONOCLASTIC
“I don’t agree … your face has really nice features. I like your big,
hazel-colored eyes. Sexy bedroom-eyes always appeal to me. And you have
a beautiful body … long, slim legs and small breasts. I like women like
you. Like I said, I’ve watched you from the door … doing your scenes.”
Karen now clearly realized where this impromptu conversation was going
and became visibly flustered.
“I’ve really got to be going. Nice chatting with you, but … could you
please let the door close,” Karen intoned sweetly, not wishing to offend
the poor fellow.
“What’s your name … in case I see you again,” the young janitor asked,
still holding the elevator door.”
“Karen Keeley.”
“I’m Ralph. See you around, Karen Keeley.”
And with that fleeting encounter, his sparkling, blue eyes focusing
intently on her, the young fellow released the elevator door allowing
Karen to escape her brief imprisonment. Nevertheless, the whole way
home, she thought, not of her acting class, but of her impromptu meeting
with the bold and attractive studio janitor.
Surprisingly, this rather flimsy, insignificant, and impromptu meeting,
which to any other woman would have meant little, had immense
significance for Karen. It was the first time she had ever spoken to a
man who was obviously interested in her as a woman and was attempting to
make that very clear. Up until now, Karen’s very limited number of
experiences with the opposite sex had been purely asexual. Unlike other
young women her age, she had never developed an interest in the opposite
sex. And, she had long forgotten her mother’s shocking explanation of
the “birds and the bees” because, back then, it had been of no interest,
her sole focus always having been the piano and her school studies.
Jaunting Jitters
Safely on the
other side of the street, Brain nervously proceeded to the station. The
quicker he could get there, the less time he would be spending on the
dangerous, nighttime, city streets where some thug, at any moment, might put
a knife to his throat and demand all his money. Indeed, it was a wretched
and stressful start to a trip that was, no doubt, going to prove far worse.
Not soon enough,
Brian found himself scurrying down the uneven subway steps to the train
platform. He was relieved to finally be off the scary, dark streets and in a
warm, lighted area where, here and there, were some official subway workers
busy at their early morning jobs. As Brian eagerly hopped aboard the
just-arriving subway to the plane, after a moment of catching his breath
from the long sprint down the five terrifying city blocks in the darkness,
he looked around the car and saw that he was the only passenger there other
than two street bums sprawled out and sleeping on the floor of the car. The
smell throughout the car was so foul, so putrid—a concoction of vomit,
booze, urine, and feces—that Brian had to put a handkerchief over his nose
and scurry away to a far corner—as far away from the vagrants as possible.
“No wonder no one
else is in this car,” he yelped out loud.
Tightly holding the handkerchief over
his nose and gagging, as soon as the train made its next stop, Brian dashed
out of the car and ran to the one ahead. Mercifully, in this car, he found
the conductor collecting the fares for the ride.
“There are two
bums in that next car back there,” he hollered out frantically to the
conductor. “Why can’t you people at least keep out those damn, filthy
vermin!”
