Existence Womb (75)

   
   "Existence Womb (75)"   
   
   It was a protracted process; nonetheless, they weren't caught.  Buck got street papers for identification, very strong work in illegal fabrication; next, got a job as a mechanic in Little Rock at a crappy, greasy garage out near East End--the freaking Boondocks.  
   Anyway, it was cool.  Owner let Miriam and him sleep above the garage--it was a little studio apartment thing, had that vibe, and Buck's wolf and Miriam's coyote instincts, growing stronger everyday, took care of the vermin that was prone to crawl around during nocturnal hours.   
   Buck did get the buzz-cut.  Miriam adored it, for his facial features now appeared larger, and more elegant--his celestial nose and serious dark eyes with flecks of forest green; plus, the high cheekbones made it all worthwhile to watch, constantly.  And she did.  Him.  Her lover.  Almost.  But the time was coming.
   She didn't go for the Irish, punk buzz-cut; still, took it pretty darn short.  A raven-haired Joan of Arc.  Both the Raven and Joan of Arc associated with sublime magic and mysterious mysticism. 
   It is not an evil thing to change.  Miriam had been realizing this since living the past two months out in rural Arkansas.  You can become better with God.  And even the coyote teaches, though prone to be cunning and secretive.  Moses was not David, and vice versa.  God, truly, loves us all.  Even the fallen, perhaps.  Yup, Miriam was blossoming betterways.  

That Guy Is A Toots

   
   "That Guy Is A Toots"
   
   Toots:  something like honey or babe; on the contrary, can have even more slang, meaning the person is a miscreant of sorts, whatever.
   Back in the day, when restaurants had packs of matches near the entrance/exit, and Bennigan's was all the jazzy rage, it being an Irish-themed, tavern-like eatery, where brawling was only on rare occasion, my Old Man (Dad) took me there for some Bud Heavy.
   My Dad was a lady's man.  Nordic in appearance, with blue eyes even more aglow with effulgence than that of Paul Newman--God rest his soul; furthermore, my Dad would always quote Newman from the flick BUTCH CASSIDY AND THE SUNDANCE KID, comically saying:  "Who the hell are these guys?"  
    Anyway, as my lady's man bio-Dad and myself threw back John Barleycorn resurrected in the brew, a hot-looking blonde sat across from us at the bar.  My Dad was all confident smiles and cool as Arthur Herbert Fonzarelli "Fonzie" until a man addicted to dandyism sat down next to the hot lass.
   The lady pulled out a menthol, and my Dad searched his cigarette pocket for some sulfur-burning matches; however, the well-dressed man unsheathed a cigarette lighter covered in fancy bling; next, ignited the tart's coffin nail.  My Dad did not look happy.  He turned to me, and in a serious but jocular tone offered:  "Mark, that guy is a Toots."   Yup--in another realm, my Dad was punching that dandy dude out.  

Existence Womb (74)

   
   "Existence Womb (74)"
   
   Miriam and Buck had hot-wired a 2006 MINI Cooper, turbo.  They drove hundreds of miles, her still ornamented in wet granny panties, and Buck's human face still having the glow of an angry and suspicious wolf.  It was silence.  No mercy.  Like a potently painful evacuation of the bowels from a disturbed colon; regardless, the made it to Tuscaloosa, having the serendipity of stumbling upon a rural habitat with a clothes line having a summer dress that fit Miriam, and a pair of overalls in confederate gray denim for Buck.  Plus, there was a new model Mustang, lighting Buck's eyes up brilliantly, his effulgent face happy to thieve the car, and they were off--for Arkansas.
   
BUCK
When we get to Razorback Nation---
  
MIRIAM
Razorback what?  I thought we were going to Arkansas?
  
BUCK
That's the nickname.  They love the Hogs like ascetics adore God Almighty.  Anyway, it's their football mascot, and we need to get some Razorback shirts, blend in--I'll give myself a buzz cut, and we'll do our best to lay low.
  
MIRIAM
Hey, I want a buzz cut too.  Not going back to that psycho pokey.  I'll look like one of them Irish/Lesbian Rockers from the 1990's.   I'm ready for a change.  A coyote change.
  
BUCK
And what adapts best to change?
  
MIRIAM
The coyote, of course.  As long as it's not a trick.
  
BUCK
Talk to God.  Know your inner coyote.  You may have an ace up your sleeve after all.     

Existence Womb (73)

   
   "Existence Womb (73)"
   
   With furious fangs, Buck ripped away Miriam's straight-jacket, revealing her in only a t-shirt and some granny panties--it was a good look, he slowly thought.
   Anyway, the alarms were boisterously buzzing within the government prison, and Miriam grasped her coyote cool, following Buck's mercurial strut the hell out of there.  He tore apart many guards, resisting their bullet power with uncanny resilience, his teeth the only objects to inflict any penetrative harm.
   Miriam grabbed a fallen guard's gun, simple .45 Colt--American made.  Now, feeling like a semi-automatic Doc Holliday, waaaay beyond the antiquated miles of single shot action, she exploded bullets at anything coming towards her, and soon, Buck and herself were out amid the galactic night, a full Moon raging brilliantly, beaming the Daystar's life upon nocturnal Terra.
   Buck immediately chewed a hole through a safety fence, denying its electric shock, and Miriam was cautious yet swift in getting through without being electrically charged any further than the human body already was.
   Then, they ran.  Her scatterfeet like Hermes reborn, keeping a steady gallop with Buck; next, as they faded from the unjust incarceration, she heard his telepathy tell her:  "We're going to Little Rock, Arkansas.  Second poorest state in the Union, and plenty of underground dwellings till we have this figured out.  Gotta steal a car first.  I can hot-wire a blender ya know."
   Miriam, activated by the action and juice of it all, in a state of bizarre jubilation offered:  "Damn, I think I pissed in my granny panties."    

Existence Womb (72)

   
   "Existence Womb (72)"
    
   Buck cut off his telepathic link with lovely, young Miriam.  Didn't want E.T. and their mega-minding probing to have spied upon the conversation; still, dogs and reptiles are much, much different--it's a fact of species.  Having a language, telepathically, that sincerely varied from one other.
   Too, Miriam had the Tungsten implant.  And there was no concern for the Templar werewolf to worry.  Hell, G. Gordon Liddy wouldn't give a rat's ass--in fact, he captured and killed a rat, eating its hind-quarter to escape any inner phobia; plus, Christ, Wicca, and Mr. Liddy had a singular axiom in their possession--it was Will; moreover, Christ's peace, and Wicca with the mantra:  "Do no harm."
   Thus, Buck looked into the Holy Spirit's Eyes, that female dove, igniting him wolfways, ornamenting him with much dog power, and a mysticism beyond the art of fable.
   His clothes torn to pieces on the floor, Buck willed himself to pass through the steel door, denying its metaphysical properties by harnessing the Trinity's assisting glory.  Next, he could smell sweet Miriam.  Her intact virginity, her fear, her wily sense of humor--and it was on.
   Running down the hall on all fours, he dodged guards and absorbed their useless gunfire; next, took a chunk outta a couple assholes, them brainwashed to serve an iniquitous, secret society of America, keeping the truth with uncouth, instead of doing the Ronald Reagan, giving us a chance to know and fight.
   Then, the sublimity and monstrous might of the tame werewolf knocked Miriam's padded cell door down and saw her surprise, wrapped in a straight jacket.  He wanted to say something cool through his wolfy fangs, but as a now American, influenced slightly by modern art and film, all he could think to verbally offer was:  "Come with me if you want to live."   

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