Cheeto Girl, they called her. And yeah,
I'm not joking, they really did call her that. She stumbled around
the trailer park all day, dead-eyed, eating cheetos and drooling
orange drool. I think she lived with her mother, although I never saw
her mother....I don't think she went to school, but that's just
because I never saw any evidence of her being in school. One time she
came to my door and said, “misahwah buh suh vesweh.” Vesweh?
After playing charades with her for about a half hour I understood
she wanted to borrow vaseline. Why? “we guh behbuh.” Bebuh? “Weh
behbuh! Yaknow, behbuh.” Near as I could figure she needed vaseline
to remedy bedbugs. I gave her a jar and told her to keep it. Whatever
she was going to do with the stuff to combat bedbugs, I didn't want
it back. Later on she came to my door with a ball point pen. I guess
it was in return for the vaseline. We take care of each other in this
neighborhood....you work your shit job, collect your nut check,
whatever it is you do, and you can maintain your fetish or your
addiction or whatever with little to no problem (mine's beer, but I
digress). Folks are nice. If someone's going to the mailbox they'll
be happy to grab your mail for you and everyone knows when to leave
you the hell alone. They'll even give you a ball point pen for use of
your vaseline. That orange cheeto drool, though? Christ. Turned my
stomach. Worst thing I've experienced since my last breathalyser
test.
copyright 2015 Molotov Editions
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