Muslims and Christians

Muslims and Christians
Mark Coleman

“Muslims nullified the Christian decree against sex before marriage. The Christians postulated that you would be divided amongst your partners in Heaven. The virgin aspect of the Muslim’s Heaven made this an ideal.” He says as he draws on his cigarette. The mouths of the group turn either up or down. Mine stays neutral. I take a swig from my bottle and walk out.
On the street, they’re all on their soap boxes too. Even if some of them do not realize it. Everyone thinking in their own way that they’re geniuses. Right, no matter what challenges are leveled at their insolence. They stand tall, even when they’re dope sick. I turn into an alley, and sit on a mattress forgotten beside the dumpster. Good as place as any to think and drink.
My mind turns over and over. One minute with a commercial jingle, the next with a profundity under-minded by very human uncertainty. I pass my eyes over the darkened windows of the tenement directly before me. A few shady characters exit the building, and walking to the end of the alley, enter the back entrance of a strip club. I take another swig, the warmth spreading through me as though my veins were blanketed in pocket warmers.
I stash my bottle behind the dumpster, and follow the boogies’ example. Inside, after paying the cover, I walk to the bar with a mouth full of breath mints. Order a scotch on the rocks and lean against the bar. The gyrations of the girls on stage remind one of the snake charmer’s cobra in some distant bazaar. The important spots are accentuated by search lights to which the moth-like patrons flutter. Waving coke residue bills in sweaty, greedy hands. An ocean of sun spot bald pates and silver spoons.
I finish my drink, and dance-strut to a chair at the stage on which a particularly nubile one is spidering. The deliciously precocious fiend’s lips are covered in that glistening balm that is designed to make a man think of but one thing. My cock bucks, hoping that it can force the zipper in a way that is contrary to its nature. I can almost hear the Baby Jane scream of the top heavy monstrosity. I could free it, but if I did I would run the risk of never allowing it this pleasurable setting again.
The girl crawls over to me, at the same time that a topless cocktail waitress approaches. Subconsciously, I reach up and grab her breast. At least, that’s what I think I do, because the next thing that I know I’m belting out of the alley on stilted, but adrenaline heavy, legs. I’m drenched in sweat, and out of breath as I enter my apartment. Collapsing on the bed, I realize that I forgot my bottle. Cursing myself for ever entering that damned place, I walk down to the neighborhood liquor store.
I figure I’ll retrieve my bottle after closing time, but after a few gin and tonics, it completely slips my mind. By the time that I remember the next morning, I imagine that the hobo, on whose bed I had sat, probably had found it. Besides, who knows when the bouncer pops out for a smoke. I resign myself to the loss, and contend myself with a shower of gin. It sticks on my throat, when I cough a bit up. The first shot can be the hardest, but its all smooth sailing from there.