The Green-Haired Woman’s Eyes

  • by Kentsuddenly irradiated with emotion
  • dogs and cows are scavenging
  • which sheds a gentle melancholy
  • lowering your blood sugar
  • Even if I had wanted to tell them about Thurmond

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The green-haired woman’s eyes glowed. I was suddenly irradiated with emotion.

“I won you!” she said, taking me by the hand and dragging me around the corner where the Boulevard of Regrets and Memory Lane met. “I knew a raffle ticket was a better idea than the auction. Now I’ll get some sugar, while those other dogs and cows are scavenging for love at the amphitheater.”

“I need to see your ticket,” I said, trying to pull free of her grip. I was amazed that such a slender individual had such strength. She didn’t stop. “No, seriously,” I protested. “We can’t let just anybody say they won and then drag away the prize before anyone else gets to see it.” I wrapped my arm around a fuchsia lamppost to make her halt.

“Fine,” she said, handing it over. “Uh-oh,” I said as I compared the stub to my tag. “Your ticket has 990666, but my tag number is 999066.”

There is a state of mental despair (for which there is a word in German of course, although I’ve forgotten it) created in the moment that you discover you’ve held your raffle ticket upside down. It is a collapsing desolation of the spirit, which sheds a gentle melancholy, lowering your blood sugar and sapping the uncanny strength gained when you thought you had won.

The gun-toting donut fetishist caught up with us. He brandished the pistol at the green-haired lady, who pouted and let go of my arm. He said, “That was pretty smooth. But the bachelor auction isn’t until tomorrow. Scram.”

Suddenly I didn’t want her to leave. Her charade with the raffle told me which contingent she was aligned with, and from what I’d read in the notebook I knew just what they wanted to hear. Not that I looked forward to telling them the bad news. Even if I had wanted to tell them about Thurmond‘s fate, I couldn’t let the donut faction find out.

“Hang on,” I said. “Can’t she at least have a kiss? For getting so close to the winning number?”

“Be quick about it,” the man with the gun said.

While cleaning the cotton candy off her face with my tongue, I hoped she was decoding the message correctly.

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