Post by Alexandra Bishop on Mar 14, 2016 20:50:23 GMT
boston.craigslist.org/sob/mis/5475543477.html
Canton D'Angelos/Walgreens - m4w (Canton)
Might as well try this twice smile emoticon
1) You ordered Greek salad at 7 PM...Wow hot
2) You're Asian and work at Walgreens about 8 PM...Wow hot
I'm 35 white and like taking girls shopping smile emoticon
The Story.
D’Angelos, Canton, MA, 6:57 pm.
I was pouring molten gravy into one of those little Styrofoam serving cups for a tall guy’s Thanksgiving sandwich when she strutted in, all high heels, curves, and attitude.
Wow, hot…
She was looking around at unwiped, sticky tables, stray napkins and God knows what else on the floor, her thick lips puckered, disapproving. For some reason, I felt for her. She deserved to be somewhere better for dinner, anywhere but here. I’d only known her a good five seconds, but my soul knew right then and there she should be having all the finer things in life.
She looked to be in her twenties, and part of me wished I was in college again. Her hair was long and impossibly straight, nearly down to her ass. I was immediately aware of the thinning, swirled wisps sitting on the top of my own head, my salt-and-pepper beard, my sideburns. She was almost to the counter, digging through her Barbie-pink Coach, and I stole another look at her. I assumed she was Asian from her enchanting, slightly tilted eyes, pale ivory skin, and dark hair…Wow, hot.
The day was slightly warmer than usual, that in-between mix of late winter with early spring trying to peek through, so she was wearing a flimsy pink tank top, one with an unidentifiable cartoon cat on the front. My daughter would probably know the character’s name…my daughter. The girl’s pink tank top was failing to hide a healthy, womanly figure. Hot. I wished in that moment I was our short, pimply cashier Craig.
Once Tall Man left with his sandwich, muttering under his breath about the amount of time he’d been waiting, I cleaned my station and waited for the exotic beauty to make a decision. I could tell Craig was having a hard time with her. Hell, I’d have been too. She kept looking back and forth at the overhanging menu, twirling her hair with a few fingers, biting her lower lip.
“Do you have gluten-free, meatless options?” she inquired. Craig cleared his throat and looked up at the menu, discussing her limited choices. I looked up at the kitchen clock. I had about another hour to go. I looked back at Craig, noticing his thin, shaking hand hovering over the touchscreen. She’d come to a decision.
“I’ll do the Greek side salad and a bottle of water.”
That was it?
I turned my back to them and gently prepared her salad. It wasn’t rocket science; I had it ready in half a minute. I wished she’d ordered something filled with protein. I’d have fixed her up something real nice. But she was watching her figure, caring about her health. Wow, was that hot.
Closing the round, plastic container and placing a FRESH FOR YOU sticker on the side to seal it, I gave the salad to Craig and watched him hand it to the girl. Gauging her reaction, I could see she was pleased. She looked past Craig to me and said “Thanks.” That one word, coming from her to me, filled me with a serious sense of warmth. She turned away from us to get some napkins and went to one of the tables, covering the sticky spots with what she’d gathered. She sat and picked at her salad, scrolling through something on her phone. We didn’t have too many customers after her, so I started to clean and in between, stole some looks in her direction. She looked up from her phone and we locked eyes again. I could almost tell what she was thinking.
She stood from her spot and walked then with purpose in my direction. I felt fifteen again, shy and unsure of myself. I didn’t understand this power she had over me. I’d seen plenty of hot girls come in and out, all of them getting salads and water, so what was so special about her? Was it her piercing green eyes, her curvaceous, youthful figure that reminded me of life and mortality? Whatever reason, I embraced what was coming next when she came up to me and opened her mouth.
“Can I have another packet of fat-free Greek dressing?”
“Sure,” I said, turning and retrieving one of the small, white plastic envelopes. Our eyes met again and when I reached over to supply her with what she needed, our hands touched for the first time. Hers were warm, hot. Mine were too. We could have caused a fire had we chosen to. The tension was thick, really thick, at least on my part. But she smiled then, showing pearly-white teeth, and turned away from me before I could say anything more to her. Her fast movement carried behind her a whiff of something musky. I breathed deeply, basking in the moment. The smell of the woman brought back something for me, something I’d been deeply repressing.
. . .
Brockton, MA, Dec 3, 2005, 8:30 pm.
“Get out of my face, you sick fuck!”
His wife was backing away from him. Her mascara was running and she smelled of liquor, and under that, he had smelled something more, something musky. Unmistakably, a man’s cologne. She had marks on her neck, too. Some new, others she’d been hiding for quite some time. She tried to convince him they were bruises, but he knew bite marks when he saw them. Tonight had only confirmed his fears.
This was what he got for being faithful, sticking by her side. Eleven years of marriage down the tubes. He’d given her the world, given her a child. And she goes and blows some guy behind a dumpster in the parking lot of a sandwich shoppe.
He’d taken his little girl shopping, decided to grab a bite to eat with her; where do they end up? Like a cosmic joke, in that same parking lot – She was supposed to be working, what the fuck. Instead, mommy’s got a stranger’s pants halfway down his ankles. What could his little one think or do in such a situation but stare in horror and confusion? What was such an act to her at the time but a mystery? Mommy had to explain, now...
He was seeing red. He ran past his daughter toward the dumpster, towards the scene of stinging betrayal. Something in him had snapped. He pushed his wife out of the way. She shouted in pain; good. She must have scraped her knees on the pavement. As he pushed her, her teeth must have grazed the man; he gave a shout of surprise. The man looked up at him in a half-sated haze. He hated that look on the man’s face, and needed to get rid of it. So he did.
His wife was next, wherever she ran to. He found her running towards the daughter she suddenly cared so much about. What was she going to do, use their daughter as a shield? Daddy wouldn’t do anything violent if Scarlet was here. How wrong she was.
“Get out of my face, you sick fuck!”
Those words rattled him. He was sick? He was, really? She was the one who stooped low enough that she’d had a complete stranger’s dick in her mouth. She saw something in his eyes then, something evil and scarlet. She would never do anything like this to him again. He wouldn’t give her the opportunity.
He didn’t remember much after he did away with her. Their daughter was running from The Sandwich Shoppe Massacre, in the direction of oncoming traffic. A tractor trailer was coming. This wasn’t how he planned this, any of this.
. . .
His hooded eyes were still boring into the back of her as she turned away. Things he’d not want stirred had been stirred. The smell of cologne, the same musky forest kind, still invaded his nostrils. He rubbed his nose, then his eyes, trying to get the smells and the visions and the scents out of and away from him.
He was a killer. He murdered two people. A third had been killed that night, but that had been unintentional. In a million years, he’d never…
But the die had been cast. Everyone’s fates were what they were, and he had to deal with the aftermath – the punishment. A lowly, lonely existence. One where the house and the wife and the kid were gone; in its place, a low-rent, cockroach infested apartment. A nine-dollar-an-hour job.
He closed his eyes then, placing both his hands on the counter, then bending down, met his forehead with cool tile. It calmed him if only for a moment, and then he heard an “excuse me.”
It was the Asian again.
“You gave me the wrong dressing. I asked for fat-free, this is regular,” she said to him. God, she sounded so much like his wife then. The smell, mixed with the attitude and the long hair. She could be Beth’s twin. He turned and reached slowly into the red bin, slowly pulling out what she desired. She gave a look of annoyed approval.
“Thanks. But I’m late for work now. I’m going to have to take this to go.”
He watched her in a frenzy of anger and lust. She was gathering her purse and her half-eaten salad. She reached into her purse and some kind of cloth, something red, emerged in her hands. It was a vest for Walgreens, probably the one down on Fourth and Yew. Throwing it on, she ran out the door. He looked up at the kitchen clock. Perfect timing; his shift was over.
---
He was breathing heavily, like he’d run a mile. He hadn’t done this since Beth, but he could no longer deny who he was inside.
He was outside of the Walgreens on Flint Street, by the corner of Fourth and Yew. He was sitting quietly in his yellow-rusted Volvo, watching as she entered from the back door. He saw the arms of another employee embrace her, welcoming her into the depths of the drugstore where she worked to make ends meet. He smiled, thinking of ways to make her ends meet. A short shrill laugh escaped from him. He looked down at the contents next to him on the passenger-side seat. Various chromatic instruments of torture lay before him, but which to choose? He thought back then on Scarlet, when she’d have her Barbies do a sort of battle against each other. What weapons would they have used? What would Scarlet have wanted him to do?
Scarlet…
That’s what grounded him then, made him think clearly.
She wouldn’t have wanted any of this. She would have wanted him to drive away with her, right now, and go somewhere fun. They could go shopping, one more time. He could buy her an ice cream, tell her how pretty she looked.
Chromatic weapons aside, he’d made himself a sandwich, but couldn’t find the drive to eat it. He was hungry to feel alive, and right now, going into Walgreens, finding that Asian girl who reminded him so much of Beth, and doing unspeakable things to her – that’s what would make him feel truly alive again.
“Don’t, daddy,” Scarlet said to him then.
He looked in the rearview mirror, meeting sunken eyes from the backseat. There she was like usual, haunting him, her pink dress caked with grave dirt.
“I want to, baby. I can’t keep up this façade,” he told her, his voice shaking. He felt so hollow.
“Turn around, now! We can kill her another night. I want to go to the store.”
“But we’ll come back, right? We’ll kill her, you truly promise that?”
“I promise. Better yet, Daddy, we’ll make her come to us.”
“How?”
“By posting a missed connections ad on Craigslist, Daddy…I’m hungry.”
He nodded and then removed his meatball sub from its wrapper, cutting it into two with one of his murder weapons, handing half to the ghost of his daughter.
“Oh…Wow, hot,” he said, biting into sauce-drenched, mozzarella-covered meat, watching as the Asian girl slipped out for a moment, pink cellphone in hand.
Canton D'Angelos/Walgreens - m4w (Canton)
Might as well try this twice smile emoticon
1) You ordered Greek salad at 7 PM...Wow hot
2) You're Asian and work at Walgreens about 8 PM...Wow hot
I'm 35 white and like taking girls shopping smile emoticon
The Story.
D’Angelos, Canton, MA, 6:57 pm.
I was pouring molten gravy into one of those little Styrofoam serving cups for a tall guy’s Thanksgiving sandwich when she strutted in, all high heels, curves, and attitude.
Wow, hot…
She was looking around at unwiped, sticky tables, stray napkins and God knows what else on the floor, her thick lips puckered, disapproving. For some reason, I felt for her. She deserved to be somewhere better for dinner, anywhere but here. I’d only known her a good five seconds, but my soul knew right then and there she should be having all the finer things in life.
She looked to be in her twenties, and part of me wished I was in college again. Her hair was long and impossibly straight, nearly down to her ass. I was immediately aware of the thinning, swirled wisps sitting on the top of my own head, my salt-and-pepper beard, my sideburns. She was almost to the counter, digging through her Barbie-pink Coach, and I stole another look at her. I assumed she was Asian from her enchanting, slightly tilted eyes, pale ivory skin, and dark hair…Wow, hot.
The day was slightly warmer than usual, that in-between mix of late winter with early spring trying to peek through, so she was wearing a flimsy pink tank top, one with an unidentifiable cartoon cat on the front. My daughter would probably know the character’s name…my daughter. The girl’s pink tank top was failing to hide a healthy, womanly figure. Hot. I wished in that moment I was our short, pimply cashier Craig.
Once Tall Man left with his sandwich, muttering under his breath about the amount of time he’d been waiting, I cleaned my station and waited for the exotic beauty to make a decision. I could tell Craig was having a hard time with her. Hell, I’d have been too. She kept looking back and forth at the overhanging menu, twirling her hair with a few fingers, biting her lower lip.
“Do you have gluten-free, meatless options?” she inquired. Craig cleared his throat and looked up at the menu, discussing her limited choices. I looked up at the kitchen clock. I had about another hour to go. I looked back at Craig, noticing his thin, shaking hand hovering over the touchscreen. She’d come to a decision.
“I’ll do the Greek side salad and a bottle of water.”
That was it?
I turned my back to them and gently prepared her salad. It wasn’t rocket science; I had it ready in half a minute. I wished she’d ordered something filled with protein. I’d have fixed her up something real nice. But she was watching her figure, caring about her health. Wow, was that hot.
Closing the round, plastic container and placing a FRESH FOR YOU sticker on the side to seal it, I gave the salad to Craig and watched him hand it to the girl. Gauging her reaction, I could see she was pleased. She looked past Craig to me and said “Thanks.” That one word, coming from her to me, filled me with a serious sense of warmth. She turned away from us to get some napkins and went to one of the tables, covering the sticky spots with what she’d gathered. She sat and picked at her salad, scrolling through something on her phone. We didn’t have too many customers after her, so I started to clean and in between, stole some looks in her direction. She looked up from her phone and we locked eyes again. I could almost tell what she was thinking.
She stood from her spot and walked then with purpose in my direction. I felt fifteen again, shy and unsure of myself. I didn’t understand this power she had over me. I’d seen plenty of hot girls come in and out, all of them getting salads and water, so what was so special about her? Was it her piercing green eyes, her curvaceous, youthful figure that reminded me of life and mortality? Whatever reason, I embraced what was coming next when she came up to me and opened her mouth.
“Can I have another packet of fat-free Greek dressing?”
“Sure,” I said, turning and retrieving one of the small, white plastic envelopes. Our eyes met again and when I reached over to supply her with what she needed, our hands touched for the first time. Hers were warm, hot. Mine were too. We could have caused a fire had we chosen to. The tension was thick, really thick, at least on my part. But she smiled then, showing pearly-white teeth, and turned away from me before I could say anything more to her. Her fast movement carried behind her a whiff of something musky. I breathed deeply, basking in the moment. The smell of the woman brought back something for me, something I’d been deeply repressing.
. . .
Brockton, MA, Dec 3, 2005, 8:30 pm.
“Get out of my face, you sick fuck!”
His wife was backing away from him. Her mascara was running and she smelled of liquor, and under that, he had smelled something more, something musky. Unmistakably, a man’s cologne. She had marks on her neck, too. Some new, others she’d been hiding for quite some time. She tried to convince him they were bruises, but he knew bite marks when he saw them. Tonight had only confirmed his fears.
This was what he got for being faithful, sticking by her side. Eleven years of marriage down the tubes. He’d given her the world, given her a child. And she goes and blows some guy behind a dumpster in the parking lot of a sandwich shoppe.
He’d taken his little girl shopping, decided to grab a bite to eat with her; where do they end up? Like a cosmic joke, in that same parking lot – She was supposed to be working, what the fuck. Instead, mommy’s got a stranger’s pants halfway down his ankles. What could his little one think or do in such a situation but stare in horror and confusion? What was such an act to her at the time but a mystery? Mommy had to explain, now...
He was seeing red. He ran past his daughter toward the dumpster, towards the scene of stinging betrayal. Something in him had snapped. He pushed his wife out of the way. She shouted in pain; good. She must have scraped her knees on the pavement. As he pushed her, her teeth must have grazed the man; he gave a shout of surprise. The man looked up at him in a half-sated haze. He hated that look on the man’s face, and needed to get rid of it. So he did.
His wife was next, wherever she ran to. He found her running towards the daughter she suddenly cared so much about. What was she going to do, use their daughter as a shield? Daddy wouldn’t do anything violent if Scarlet was here. How wrong she was.
“Get out of my face, you sick fuck!”
Those words rattled him. He was sick? He was, really? She was the one who stooped low enough that she’d had a complete stranger’s dick in her mouth. She saw something in his eyes then, something evil and scarlet. She would never do anything like this to him again. He wouldn’t give her the opportunity.
He didn’t remember much after he did away with her. Their daughter was running from The Sandwich Shoppe Massacre, in the direction of oncoming traffic. A tractor trailer was coming. This wasn’t how he planned this, any of this.
. . .
His hooded eyes were still boring into the back of her as she turned away. Things he’d not want stirred had been stirred. The smell of cologne, the same musky forest kind, still invaded his nostrils. He rubbed his nose, then his eyes, trying to get the smells and the visions and the scents out of and away from him.
He was a killer. He murdered two people. A third had been killed that night, but that had been unintentional. In a million years, he’d never…
But the die had been cast. Everyone’s fates were what they were, and he had to deal with the aftermath – the punishment. A lowly, lonely existence. One where the house and the wife and the kid were gone; in its place, a low-rent, cockroach infested apartment. A nine-dollar-an-hour job.
He closed his eyes then, placing both his hands on the counter, then bending down, met his forehead with cool tile. It calmed him if only for a moment, and then he heard an “excuse me.”
It was the Asian again.
“You gave me the wrong dressing. I asked for fat-free, this is regular,” she said to him. God, she sounded so much like his wife then. The smell, mixed with the attitude and the long hair. She could be Beth’s twin. He turned and reached slowly into the red bin, slowly pulling out what she desired. She gave a look of annoyed approval.
“Thanks. But I’m late for work now. I’m going to have to take this to go.”
He watched her in a frenzy of anger and lust. She was gathering her purse and her half-eaten salad. She reached into her purse and some kind of cloth, something red, emerged in her hands. It was a vest for Walgreens, probably the one down on Fourth and Yew. Throwing it on, she ran out the door. He looked up at the kitchen clock. Perfect timing; his shift was over.
---
He was breathing heavily, like he’d run a mile. He hadn’t done this since Beth, but he could no longer deny who he was inside.
He was outside of the Walgreens on Flint Street, by the corner of Fourth and Yew. He was sitting quietly in his yellow-rusted Volvo, watching as she entered from the back door. He saw the arms of another employee embrace her, welcoming her into the depths of the drugstore where she worked to make ends meet. He smiled, thinking of ways to make her ends meet. A short shrill laugh escaped from him. He looked down at the contents next to him on the passenger-side seat. Various chromatic instruments of torture lay before him, but which to choose? He thought back then on Scarlet, when she’d have her Barbies do a sort of battle against each other. What weapons would they have used? What would Scarlet have wanted him to do?
Scarlet…
That’s what grounded him then, made him think clearly.
She wouldn’t have wanted any of this. She would have wanted him to drive away with her, right now, and go somewhere fun. They could go shopping, one more time. He could buy her an ice cream, tell her how pretty she looked.
Chromatic weapons aside, he’d made himself a sandwich, but couldn’t find the drive to eat it. He was hungry to feel alive, and right now, going into Walgreens, finding that Asian girl who reminded him so much of Beth, and doing unspeakable things to her – that’s what would make him feel truly alive again.
“Don’t, daddy,” Scarlet said to him then.
He looked in the rearview mirror, meeting sunken eyes from the backseat. There she was like usual, haunting him, her pink dress caked with grave dirt.
“I want to, baby. I can’t keep up this façade,” he told her, his voice shaking. He felt so hollow.
“Turn around, now! We can kill her another night. I want to go to the store.”
“But we’ll come back, right? We’ll kill her, you truly promise that?”
“I promise. Better yet, Daddy, we’ll make her come to us.”
“How?”
“By posting a missed connections ad on Craigslist, Daddy…I’m hungry.”
He nodded and then removed his meatball sub from its wrapper, cutting it into two with one of his murder weapons, handing half to the ghost of his daughter.
“Oh…Wow, hot,” he said, biting into sauce-drenched, mozzarella-covered meat, watching as the Asian girl slipped out for a moment, pink cellphone in hand.