Word: delacal
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Suppertime came around and the girls said they had to go and Briggs and I said no, come out with us and they said O.K. and we all piled into Briggs's and my '58 Caddy and cruised out of town. The Delac's quite the cruiser, and for only $450 Briggs and I just about cornered the chrome market. Her yellow paint job is a little faded, but at night the Delac does just fine. And night was fast coming, we thought...
Until Briggs and I bought the Delac, Daniel was hardly a substantial thing. Gay and he were the shadowed whispers of 4 a.m. arguments, heard across the 3-4 inch thick fiberboard that separates our kitchens. But we bought the Delac and she glows in the dark and Daniel was sky-high and wandering into our shack chanting, "Fried potatoes, Fried potatoes, Fried onions...," spuming beer down over his chin like a baby gurgling on its pablum (greasily, in big, viscous bubbles), his Coors can outstretched as he flexed to show off his "megalopulous muscles," twittering about the floor like...
Daniel didn't think he'd remember too much about that evening; dropping acid is a hum-drum every night occurrence. But old Daniel, from the moment he first laid eyes upon the Delac, was sure he'd never forget a ride in her. So Gay steered him into the white leather and silver glitter back seat that's as plump and as soft as a Cherubim's rosy- checked behind, the four feet of leg-room sucking him into a state of heavenly transport punctuated by means of "Far out, Too much..." and hideous witch cackling that had gotten...
Calling it a night, Peg climbed out, telling Daniel to pull the plug when he was finished. Bridget and he stopped this writhing, uncoiling out of the water like salamanders; slickly limp, warm, shivering. Briggs and Jenny headed up to the Delac where Gay wasn't, Jenny telling Briggs about Gay's black eyes, the bandaged stabs on her arm, the bruises on he chest. And Gay was dying of T.B. and wouldn't go see a doctor and Briggs leaned back against the Delac, its door open and insides all aglow in the depth of nothing, and our odds...
...road, running like the devil just for the hell of it. Not to wait for Daniel to stagger up the path on Bridget's arm, asking what was wrong and then, after saying something really must be done, passing out in the backseat of the Delac, on his sweetheart's lap. Not to walk back to Peg's picking my way through the blackness with a load tread and louder whistle so Peg would hear me loud and clear and not blast me when, stepping onto his porch, his door popped open a crack and he stood naked...