EXES AND OH'S

Whitney Houston, Lionel Richie and Bob F*cking Marley

Time check, 4:20 PM.

With a big, stupid smile painted on my face, I sit on our bench and place the simple but stunning bouquet of black tulips on the empty seat beside me. Thankfully no one has occupied our spot. 

Plenty of tourists and native Angelenos alike are gathered further up on the dock, watching and listening to some street performers who are playing really cool covers of classic reggae songs. They're so good, that people are actually up on the boardwalk dancing to their groove — random couples and strangers swaying to smooth rhythm of the guitars, horns, bongos and timbales.

Usually, I friggin' hate huge, crowded places. But right now I'm absolutely loving the really fun, festive vibe out here. Heck, I might even ask Charlie to silly-dance with me later to some sultry reggae tune up here on the boardwalk. I know she'd hate that idea, and I'll love it because I'll get to see her cute, angry little woman scowl again. Man, I just love getting her panties in a bunch, literally and figuratively. Strip them off her with my teeth and throw it all twisted on the floor— oh, yes.

Holy fuckballs. That thought just got me a Swedish headache.

Yeah, I'll definitely get Charlie to dance for me later. A hot and dirty strip-tease if I'm lucky. I'll literally beg and cry if I have to. 

Charlie doesn't know nor realize it, but she dances real fucking sexy. I already saw her once doing a sexy little dance in her apartment. She was completely zonked-out from weed, writhing and moving her hips to the music while she was down in her cute, tiny pink panties, plus that sweaty, see-through white shirt. And boy oh boy, how many times did I beat my meat to that memory of her? I can't even fucking remember. Crap, I'm already getting a boner just remembering and thinking about it.

I chuckle to myself. I just can't rid my head of thoughts of Charlie. That brief period we weren't together after she left for Cali? Those five long, excruciating weeks, she never left my mind — not even for a fucking second. And even this whole week we were together the entire time, I was still thinking about her, us... every night, every day, 24-fucking-7. It's like a Charlie-Inception. I'm thinking of her even when I'm already with her. 

God, she's turned me into a lovestruck cactus and a romantic idiot. These are the stuff that used to make me want to gag myself and throw up in my mouth, yet here I am. Fucking hell, I even make silly poems now; Roses are red. Violets are fine. You be the 6. I'll be the 9. See? Crazy romantic me, right?

And yeah, I'll definitely tell that poem to Charlie later. She'll swoon for sure. Damn fucking straight.

"This seat taken, bub?" 

I look up and see an old woman, probably in her early seventies, her voice scratchy and high-pitched like if the Cookie Monster from Sesame Street had a female version. I bet this old lady's one of those grandmas that cuddle scotch bottles like they're her babies. She has this head full of ridiculous, dyed-red hair and she looks like a glamorous Ronald McDonald. And oh, she's got the over-lined red lipstick to match, too. Jesus Christ, she's like the stuff childhood nightmares are made of — a scary, gypsy-slash-hippie-looking, Mahjong-playing gramma.

But I have to be nice, she's a nana for fuck's sake. Besides, I have a soft spot for the oldies. And although her face terrifies me, I couldn't be an asshole and just shoo her away like a cat. And leaving this bench definitely isn't an option, too. I grab the bunch of tulips and move a little to offer the old lady a seat. "Yeah, no, sit down. I was just waiting for my girl."

"How lovely." She mumbles nonchalantly, as if mildly unimpressed, then swings her arm against the backrest of the bench. Nana Ronald lights on the cigarette perched between her lips, and her face instantly lights up when she catches a glimpse of the bouquet of flowers that I'm holding. She smiles and lightly grazes her bony, wrinkled fingers on the tulips' petals. "Oh Sonny, these tulips are gorgeous. I think, this variety's called... Queen of the Night."