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Sexy, like Def Leppard in my car. Blasting so loud as we roll through the Castro. My hoopdy Honda with it's crinkled hood and bird-shit body. I wear a 'rentals' cap in camo-print, a tiger belt, jeans, boots, a threadbare shirt. The door swings open in the wind. I step out--one leg at a time--with the fabulousness of a piece of trash. Will rolls out of my wheels in a t-shirt and jeans. His face is shadowed with two-days of beard. He rips off his shirt and the sun beams on his body. Tiny shaven hairs coat his chest like a Tom of Finland character. My eyelids widen. I grunt in approval. He throws on a wifebeater. Guns N Roses now--Nightrain. All we need now are a couple of fo'dees and the image is complete. He puts his arm around me. Nuzzles a kiss in my neck. Bad muthafucka. We walk forward with the clip-clop of boots. Heads turn, like we're stepping on stage of a Jerry Springer segment. "I found love in a dumpster". My white-trash romance. My trailer-park passions. My Guns N Roses love affair.
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