The author in younger days
Stephano Malone was alone, so blindingly lost and alone – like a mole groping its way through the subterranean dark, trying to find its way to the surface. As he passed through the dank bowels of the Philly subway system, lost on his way back to his lonely room at the La Quinta, Stephano felt the buildup of an urge unfulfilled. He clenched his teeth and tried to contain it, but he knew he could not hold it for long.
This urge was a thirst for Love. For while Malone had grown rich in fertilizer sales, his heart was as barren as farmland tilled with the competitor’s product. You see, despite a coif that looked as if it were born of sunshine, and eyes dark as the sky over Kansas just before the fecundating rains, The Flower of Desire had never bloomed for Stephano Malone.
And then – like a ministering angel to a Lost Soul – there she was. In a corner of the station, a blond woman crouched in the shadows, squatting to pee amidst the discarded tabloids and cans of “high gravity” malt liquor, shielded from sight by a subway bench. Shielded from the sight, that is, of everyone except Stephano Malone.
Stephano Malone could constrain his need no longer. He felt his heart rise in his throat like a tapioca ball in a cup of bubble tea rising through a straw. He gazed longingly upon the object of his desire, as she tried to get up, tottered, then caught herself with a hand set square in the newly-formed pool of urine. Stephano might not have known whether her difficulty standing was due to her inebriety or to the cast on her right leg below the knee, but he did know he was in love.
Once the woman managed to get herself upright, she hiked up her stone-washed jeans and tucked in her faded T-shirt with a picture of Daisy Duck dressed like a gangsta. Stephano could not take his eyes off her, as if he had just been heart-jacked by the bird on her shirt. He felt a stirring in his loins, as if the Vermouth of Love was being mixed into the Cocktail of Fate by the Bartender of Destiny.
Stephano Malone knew he could not let this moment pass like so much excrement from the asses of cattle – that was not the fertilizer required now. No, Stephano had to seize the bull by the horns; he had to say hello, had to know the name of this beautiful creature; and if luck shone down on him, let this woman’s touch fertilize the barren soil of his life.
Stephano approached her. “So, you’re taking the subway too, huh?” he blurted “I like to take the subway, too.” What a foolish thing to say, he thought. Surely people from a metropolis of culture like Philadelphia didn’t make such banal chit-chat.
“You a cop or something?” the woman slurred, trying to focus on a single image of Stephano and keep it from spinning.
“N-no,” Stephano replied meekly, fearing that his new-found love preferred a more heroic type. “I‘m just a little ol’ fertilizer salesman. Yup. Cow poop.”
“Cow poop?” mused the crunchy-haired blonde. “So, you wanna date or something?” She picked something out from her teeth, examined it for a second and ate it.
Stephano’s heart fluttered like a butterfly, his loins were swollen with passion, as if stung by a bee. Had his luck finally changed? Did this sway-backed stranger really want to date him? A million questions swarmed through his head, like a plague of locusts come to destroy the crop of Reason.
“I … what’s your name?” Stephano Malone sputtered, “I’m Stephano. I … I would really love a date. Really. I’d love a date.”
“Name’s Bunny,” replied the blonde, “It’s gonna be twenty.”
“Twenty?” asked Stephano, confused. He looked at his watch. Maybe she meant that the next train came in twenty minutes.
“Fine, fifteen,” mumbled Bunny, “c’mon, let’s hurry up.”
Hurry up? Was Bunny as excited as he? Stephano followed eagerly as Bunny hobbled up a flight of stairs and out the turnstile, a bottle of pills rattling in her purse. The subway suddenly seemed less empty. Stephano could feel the eyes following them, jealous no doubt of the love he and Bunny had found.
Bunny started into the ladies room, then turned and gazed at him from the puke blue tiled interior with a calm, almost bored anticipation. “You come’n in or what?”
“Um … uhh, yeah” Confused, yet unable to break the spell of this lovely stranger, Stephano followed her inside.
The blonde headed into the handicapped stall with Stephano close behind, and locked the door. To his tantalizing surprise, Bunny untucked her shirt, letting her belly spill forth over the tight grip of her jeans. Malone stood with mouth agape as she undid the button and let them fall over her pink, sparkly jelly shoes, revealing a large bush reminiscent of birthing videos from the 70’s. A familiar smell filled Stephano’s nostrils, reminding him of when he used to clean the grease traps at Skipper’s.
Stephano was engorged with desire, his manhood erect with anticipation, as Bunny took a seat on the commode and urged him towards her. As he mounted the pungent lass he was overcome with feelings of love, passion, and premature ejaculation. He slumped against the cold metal bathroom stall, exhausted yet aglow with Love, after his short copulation with the mysterious Bunny.
It was then that Stephano noticed a slight tug at his back pocket. He turned to catch a glance of his lover hurrying out from the stall, pulling at her saggy jeans. “Oh no,” he thought, “the train!” The bathroom door slammed behind Bunny, as he stumbled after her, loosing a shoe on the way.
Malone rushed after his love, just in time to watch her climb awkwardly over the turnstile. Fear rose in his heart. If he missed the subway, he might never see his True Love again. Oh, what torture to lose his Bunny! He felt a stinging pang. But the hurt came not from his heart, but from his socked foot. Stephano collapsed to ground, grasping at the source of his pain: a rusty brown hypodermic that had embedded itself into the flesh of his heel. A distant rumbling foretold the train that would take his Love away forever.
“Oh, if only Hepatitis were my only worry right now,” thought Stephano, “if only … oh God, where’s my wallet?”