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‘The Occasional Man’
Wench Watching in Denver Colorado’s Union Station
The occasional man walks by, seeming somewhat masculine, and invariably without a woman.
Polite sissy men with obliging Asian women who act like ladies and let him take the soft lead, amble by.
A scowling bantu warrior with hooded sweatshirt for a mask slinks by, in his mid-forties, one arrest away from a heart attack and martyrdom.
A scary, nice-breasted, six foot athletic blonde, with bar code tattooing and some credo on her well-formed arms, carrying more gear than me and quicker, seems like the homeless sister of Holly Holmes.
Who says that pork shipments are down. So many pigs in their gray transit uniforms and 9MM side arms are offloading as I’m telling Oliver how good the women look that it isn’t even funny. These are plump, fertility-goddess built males drones of the system.
I’m like a one-eyed dog in a meat market here.
I just ordered a large coffee behind the Land o Lakes butter girl, who I suppose is out of work and drifting around looking for a strip club that’s still open…
And yes, there goes Pocahontas with a soy boy holding her tan hand…
A cute little brunette with coffee in her hand is walking languidly by me, not standing out at all, though she’d be the best looking woman in Baltimore.
The police coverage is at soviet levels where it was not even noticeable before, with 5 times the normal number of hoho-gutted goons eye-fucking bums and admiring the same dolls I’m enamored with.
Despite the heavy police coverage, this town reeks of softness and sloth laced with the tapestry of slave girls elevated to goddess. I almost feel guilty for writing Thunderbird as set in Baltimore resulting in the wolf and bear clansmen of the Mohawks running out of ammunition and getting ground up by Bantu hordes—hell, they would have taken this entire place!
We need about five thousand Nigerians, enough Syrians to implement a Sharia militia and Somalis enough to vote-in some brother-fucking princess politician, and then maybe Denver will have a chance at redemption.
Oh, here comes a sissy, his handsome wife [around here a 7 is only handsome], his wonderstruck little girl holding his hand as she explores the world by his side and his cowering son holding his mother’s hand and looking at his feet… somehow the little tyke is sensing Hel’s earthly heartbeat as she summons her sallow Norns…
Damn… look at this blonde bitch with the ivy tattoos, kinked hair and the tight jeans—yep, she’s headed behind the bar. Looks like Poppy needs a drink—as soon as I dump this coffee.
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Add a new comment below:
Denise HeupelDecember 18, 2020 6:55 AM UTC

I have always been surprised that you are a city guy from Back East, because you've always reminded me more of the Old Time Mountain Man. Usually people who are Awake are more apt to live away from Civilization. I can totally see you out in the Rockies with an Indian wife.
responds:December 19, 2020 3:47 AM UTC

Sounds like the perfect end phase to me. Thanks. I have been lucky enough in city life to have been extremely alienated which, i think, has preserved some of what was supposed to be erased.
BryceDecember 15, 2020 6:47 PM UTC
Don QuotaysDecember 11, 2020 11:40 PM UTC

I used to transit thru the Denver airport regularly about 15 years ago and the babe quality was quite respectable.

Minimal freakshow types then.
RubenDecember 11, 2020 4:21 PM UTC

Erotic hallucinatory realism. This is genius stuff!
responds:December 12, 2020 4:18 PM UTC

That place really impressed me, especially the Land o Lakes Butter Babe knockoff.