Saturday, July 22, 2017

Roper 23 - Passeig de Gràcia 2

I lit one of the last existing Prince`s and inhaled greedily, tilted my head back and closed my eyes. It can be only a matter of minutes now before the police shows up and ends it all....I hope that the high art of spoon handle stabbery would come easy to me in prison.

Would I be a prison bitch or a ho? Why can a bitch in hip hop songs be both masculine and feminine why ho`s are always feminine?

So many questions, so little time....

L. `s telephone was playing a different tune now: "Strong Culture" by Asian Dub Foundation.

He might be a geek but still has epic music taste.


I wonder which gangs I would join or if I was doomed to be incontinent at a very young age in prison....I bet getting sodomized 24/7 does something bad for bladder control....

"Monsieur? Pardon, my I suggest a swift relocation?"

Someone touched my shoulder


I opened my eyes and starred in to a small, dark face with a 1920ies waxed `stache and a giant red fez on top of it.

Sirens getting louder in the background.

"Monsieur, with all due respect. May I offer you transportation in my humble automobile?"

L. and M. came running. L. coiled up his rope in the process and starred to the south end of Passeig de Gràcia.

"I think we better scram...who`s this?"

I took a better look at my new friend: Not a centimeter over 150 and dressed like Professor Tribini.

"Oh, I am just my Masters humble servant and my name is of no significance. Mademoiselle" an elegant little bow towards M. "would you do me the great honor of inviting you for a more pleasant ride in my automobile than the Guardia Civil an offer?"

An elegant little hand pointed towards what looked like as if an Art Deco monument fell on the bat mobile.

"Stutz Bearcat 1972" M. said under her breath, eyes wide open and looking semi orgasmic "but with 4 doors?!"

"Oui Mademoiselle, and may I suggest you use those?"

L. did not waste time but flew on to the backseat together with M.

"Ready Monsieur?" My new friend said as I sat down beside him. He put on racer gloves looking like they cost more than my monthly rent.

"Ehrm yeah..." I managed to say before the acceleration pressed me back in to the seat.

The car potently maneuvered through the impossible dense Barcelona traffic like a welding torch through butter, with our new friend steering with graceful ease...only touching the wheel with a feather touch with the tip of his fingers.

"Thank you man!" I said "that was highly appreciated...but who are you and where are we going?"

"I am here on my Masters bidding...and about my name. I am Hadschi Halef Omar Ben Hadschi Abul Abbas Ibn Hadschi Dawuhd al Gossara." a little satanic smile "but you may, hihi,  call me "Hadschi!"

"You are joking!" L said as he finally turned his attention from the back window "that is really your name?!"

"I am most certainly not joking Monsieur!" again that little smile.

"Huh!" L said and fell back into the luxurious, rich leather.

"Don`t be rude L." M said dreamily as her fingers stroke the cars interior with a dreaming expression.

"Merci Mademoiselle! Our journey to our Masters residence shall be short and swift!" That was underlined by another gentle acceleration tuck.

"Your Masters name is not Kara Ben Nemsi by any chance?" L. asked.

"No Monsieur, what an obscure name!"


"Stop pestering the man L. he is driving! M. still looked as if she was in her own personal nirvana.

The trip was indeed short, suddenly we turned and stood before a giant wrought gate with, what I thought, dragon figures"

"What the hell?!" L. said.

"El Drac de Gaudi!" M. exclaimed... "Oh my god!"

Her eyes grew to the size of saucers.

"Indeed Mademoiselle" the gate swung open "and there is my Master, waiting impatiently!"

A small figure stood in front of a large, palace looking building dressed in what looked like a World War 1 uniform: With wicklers and all.

As we stepped out of the car he rushed towards us with outstretched arms.

"Comrades!" he yelled and gave L. a all embracing hug. Not a mean feat since L was about 40 cm taller than himself.

He hugged me and gave M. a perfect performed kiss on the hand.

"Allow me: My name is Pablo Durruti...Colonel of the Spanish Republican Army  when we fought the fascists in the 1920ies. But you can call me Travis!"

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