Jazzmin Flush (19)

   
   "Jazzmin Flush (19)"
   
   Jazzmin Flush, without being a bold makeup junkie, convinced Thomas by way of naked eyelash flux to take her out and enjoy a nocturnal night in the liberty-loving City of Angels.  As a result, he, the male, picked the enchanting entertainment and cheap cuisine--since he worked on a taco truck.
   Thomas, not holding her angelic hand, but awkwardly escorting her quasi-winged shoulders, took her to a corn dog stand, not the kind that served rotten rat on a stinky stick, but the mechanically-separated chicken gelled with not-haunted by demons swine; thus, the twosome both crossed their fingers as they indulged in Christ breaking the Food Laws.
   Afterwards, two rainbow-flavored lollipops were innocently sucked; next, an amphitheater visited, where the Modern Gallagher smashed seedless, organic watermelons, inspiring gentle madness as the eager audience enjoyed aqua with anti-oxidants if fortunate enough to catch some yummy chunks between their chompers.
   Walking her back to her basement, Thomas noticed Jazzmin's thick, muscular stems glazed by the California Sun.  "Uh, Jazzmin, I think you're too much of a pretty package for me."
   Jazzmin blushed.  "I'm just a quirky girl is all."
   Thomas winced.  "I think I feel gooey inside, like creamy cotton candy--and it frightens me."
   Jazzmin Flush stole a mercurial smooch, and darted into the basement, fabulously phased by her first, real kiss.  Thomas looked into the star-kissed sky.  "Lord, is it okay if I really, really like a cool girl?  I mean--I'm just a dumb monk after all."
   And a deep, nurturing voice outside and inside of Thomas, a perfect psychotic synergy, verbally offered:  "You are a dumb monk Thomas, but--you got couth!"