The Devil Wears Black Leather: Chapter 18

David S. Grant is posting his latest fiction “The Devil Wears Black Leather” while he works on his latest book, the fourth and final installment that follows: Bliss | Bleach | Blackout. The working title is of course, Bleak. Why is he doing this? Because he loves you! (Note: Also, may be drunk, hence the third person intro.) For more information (or purchase/download) David’s books check out his Goodreads (Bleach 4.6 out of 5 rating; Bleach | Blackout 4.8 rating) or Amazon page.

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I have one suitcase that contains three pairs of pants, a collared shirt, two Tee-shirts and two pair of Chuck Taylors.  Jagger meets me in the front and our town car arrives shortly after.  We are early to the airport so we have a drink and then almost miss boarding due to the long line at security.  While we are boarding a Mexican man approaches me and asks me if I remember him and then he starts singing and I realize he is part of the Mariachi band from the other night.  Jagger moves ahead, looking a little embarrassed for me.

I have my window seat, but still feel crowded, sitting next to a woman wearing a baseball hat and sweatpants.  I look down at my brown Chuck Taylors, glad I was able to find them in the back of my closet and then I open my laptop, trying to work up a proposal for Elvis, but the clip art I’m pulling is cheesy and I haven’t been given any direction to I shut my laptop – a little too hard catching the attention of sweatpants next to me.

“Would you like to see my pussy cat?”  She asks, pointing down to her legs. I open my mouth, but words don’t come out, and then it’s too late.  Sweatpants woman rolls up her pants up over her knee.  On the back of her leg is a large cat tattooed.  “MEOW!” she says and I just look away.  We have only been in the air for twenty minutes.  Five hours until arrival in Las Vegas.

During boarding Jagger kindly upgraded himself to first class, I now see him walking back.  He looks around, “Tight, isn’t it?”  Jagger hands me a glass of champagne, “I got you something”.  I lower the glass as a flight attendant walks by.  “Ask me what first class is like?”  Says Jagger.  I cringe and then drink down the champagne.  “Just ask”, he continues so I ask and he says, “It’s perfection.  It’s like a Nick Nolte mug shot, pure perfection.”  Jagger goes back to his seat in first class.

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The Writing of David S. Grant View all posts by Pulp Scribbler

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