Wild Thing

Darcy takes me out on the best dates. I always have that little hitch in my stomach when she surprises me with someplace new or some talent I've never seen before or she just introduces me to new people and there's always something new about it. She'd probably say I'm biased because I have such a tiny group to compare, but she's preening underneath. I know her too well to think that she'd actually self depricate.

She wouldn't.

One of our first... dates, though it wasn't really, we'd just gotten to the point of calling them dates. One of our first dates was probably somewhere we shouldn't have been at all. It was some seedy bar in the downtown district of our middleton style suburban homtown and the food was kinda shit but they had this really delicious root beer on tap, so how could I complain? It's not like we were there for the food anyway. I think Darc must've knew the owner or something, because how else would we get our way underage bums in? It wasn't something we ever talked about anyway. Never really mattered anyway.

She went straight for the darts board. See I was thinking pool. I'm much better with pool than darts, but as it turns out Darcy was an ace at both. And she likes to teach. I figure there are seedier things she does with bar games now, but then, that day, she just wanted to teach. And there was a little bit of that tension between our bodies, just so when she would slide her hand down my arm and poise me so, having me echo her tosses time and again. It took me a while to get it right.

But I did, eventually, get it right. It wasn't all too hard, but then again, I could have been flubbing on purpose because I wanted her hands on me with greater frequency. I don't think I really wanted her to stop touching. Ever. She's surprisingly soft with her touches. Just the right pressure. For me.

But now it made sense why they called her Darts at school and on the bathroom stall graffitti. I'd attempted scrubbing off a couple of those "Darts is a slut" or "Darts ain't got no standards for the pussy she'll eat" or other high school menial bullshit. It was useless though, schoolgirls are cruel and have a certain fondness for their derogatory bathroom graffiti. But I know better, and then I was getting to know better, and Darts was Darts because she had her seedy little talent that was just a bit of fun, no more, no less. And that is a surprisingly accurate summation of Dartsy.

A little bit of fun, no more, no less.

~Harls

Neon Angels On The Road To Ruin

Happy New Year, bitches!

Okay, Harls wanted to start this shit, so here we go. Honestly, I don't see the point in writing this crap out where everyone can see it, but I guess it'll be good to at least have a record of some of the stuff that's been happening.

Yeah, so she says its because she thinks other people should know our "story". P'sh, probably just going to end up with a bunch of voyeurs and a bigger target on our backs. Anyway, what the hell, might as well get this shit on the road. I'm going to be keeping you lot up to date on current stuff mostly, and Harls, well... She wants people to know where we're coming from.

We're staying in this shitty-ass hole in the wall in Hollywood, of all places. Heh. At least it's not a squat, that's all I'm gonna say. Only trees for miles are palm trees. And there's not even many of those, in the area we're in. Just the way Harls likes it. Not going to drop any more deets than that. Too much chance of somebody looking for us.

Harls just got a job waitressing to supplement our funds, and I've found a good spot for busking, so I think we're okay there, at least. If we can just keep away from any stalky bastards. Always just out of sight, feels like. Fuckin' hell. Can't look at suits without taking a second glance these days.

Harls has been getting worse recently, on the sickness end of things. Some puking and bloody noses, mostly. I've been coughing up my lungs, though I honestly wanted to chalk that up to bronchitis at first. I get it every year, or at least I did. We're dealing though. Treat the symptoms.

Not much has gone down recently, beyond the usual sense of foreboding, though I did see that thing the other day when I was playing on a corner. Nobody else even seemed to notice as I closed my little set, put the guitar in the case and ever so calmly booked it. I so did not want a repeat of a few months ago. Scar still fuckin' burns like it's fresh when it's around.

So, anyway, the holidays weren't all that bad, which is more than I can say for some. There needs to be a calendar where you can request creeper-free days, guys. Seriously. Idiot-free days, too. I can't tell you how many offers to "keep me warm" I got today. Fuckin' a, I've got a girlfriend, shit-for-brains. Because it's so fuckin' cold in LA any time of year? Riiiiiiiiight?

And that's me for the mo', signing off. Don't have shit else to say right now.

-Darts