buying her lie and turned to me. “Brenda’s my girlfriend.” Something about sex in a bathroom brought out my cockiness and I said, "Then that means you're next." I thought that the remark was funny and returned to the bar. The Cramps had finished their set. The bass player winked at me. BeeGee the bartender asked if I had a good time. "Good enough." Another two minutes and I would have shared everyone's happy ending. have changed my answer. A hand tapped my right shoulder. The gesture was a classic lead-in to a sucker punch. Scrappers from South Boston loved to Jap the unaware, but I had learned my lesson from Old Colony project boys as a teenager. I ducked and a fist swung over my head. It was the boyfriend. I was too close for a counter-punch and my hands reached out to clutch his throat. He responded with the same tactic. Within seconds we were choking each other. 'Guadacanal' was losing consciousness. couldn't breathe. He was in the same boat. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted Brenda exiting with the drummer of the opening band. Her boyfriend noticed her exit as well. "Brenda," he croaked in my death grip. "Beer," I warbled to call for a truce and release his throat. "You had enough?" He leaned on the bar regaining his breath. "Sure." I signaled BeeGee for two beers. Our fighting was a thing of the past, so we drank till closing, after which the waitress play JOLEEN on the jukebox. It was a good song with which to end the night. After that night Guadalcanal and I became friends. We never mentioned Brenda. She became a cabaret singer with too much style to visit the bathroom with men, but at one time she has been an angel down there. A lovely wicked angel. Ps Guadalcanal and I are still friends https://trouserpress.com/forum/read.php?1,66682,66682#msg-66682 Tue, 19 May 2026 08:52:22 -0500 Phorum 5.2.23 https://trouserpress.com/forum/read.php?1,66682,66682#msg-66682 https://trouserpress.com/forum/read.php?1,66682,66682#msg-66682
“Brenda’s my girlfriend.”

Something about sex in a bathroom brought out my cockiness and I said, "Then that means you're next."

I thought that the remark was funny and returned to the bar. The Cramps had finished their set. The bass player winked at me. BeeGee the bartender asked if I had a good time.

"Good enough." Another two minutes and I would have shared everyone's happy ending. have changed my answer.

A hand tapped my right shoulder.

The gesture was a classic lead-in to a sucker punch. Scrappers from South Boston loved to Jap the unaware, but I had learned my lesson from Old Colony project boys as a teenager.

I ducked and a fist swung over my head.

It was the boyfriend.

I was too close for a counter-punch and my hands reached out to clutch his throat. He responded with the same tactic. Within seconds we were choking each other. 'Guadacanal' was losing consciousness. couldn't breathe. He was in the same boat.

Out of the corner of my eye I spotted Brenda exiting with the drummer of the opening band. Her boyfriend noticed her exit as well.

"Brenda," he croaked in my death grip.

"Beer," I warbled to call for a truce and release his throat.

"You had enough?" He leaned on the bar regaining his breath.

"Sure." I signaled BeeGee for two beers. Our fighting was a thing of the past, so we drank till closing, after which the waitress play JOLEEN on the jukebox. It was a good song with which to end the night.

After that night Guadalcanal and I became friends. We never mentioned Brenda. She became a cabaret singer with too much style to visit the bathroom with men, but at one time she has been an angel down there. A lovely wicked angel.

Ps Guadalcanal and I are still friends]]> Peter Nolan Smith Trouser Press Thu, 04 Jan 2024 13:28:50 -0600