Porn Garden

We pulled out of Union Station at about 8PM. In the song, the train pulls out in the morning and arrives in the evening. Guess things had changed since Steve Goodman rode the train and wrote the song. I could live with that. Ever since I’d first heard Arlo Guthrie singing about “The City of New Orleans”, I’d wanted to take this trip. Oftentimes, at work or in the shower, I’d find myself humming the tune. Now, I was actually on the legendary train, riding from Chicago to New Orleans. We’d be “changing cars in Memphis, Tennessee” at about 6:30 in the morning, “half way home and we’d be there” by about 3:30 in the afternoon.

Read the rest of this page »

After parking his wife’s practically new minivan away from all the other cars, the shade of the mall’s parking garage was a relief from the summer sun. Dave bent down to get his receipt. He knew the store wouldn’t take back the wrench without it. Sitting up, he saw some little black Honda had just pulled alongside and blocked his door. Jerk off, Dave thought. Looking down, he saw blonde, luxurious hair splayed across the nude midriff of a hairy guy. The guy had his tee shirt pulled up to his chest and his pants around his knees. The blonde was already involved in giving a guy a serious blowjob.

Read the rest of this page »

I’d been with Engine 12 for about five years, in and out of all kinds of hairy situations, but this was the first time I’d ever been laid up for any length of time. We were working an abandoned warehouse fire, probably accidentally set by some wino trying to keep warm. Damn cross beam fell and knocked me flat. If it wasn’t for my suit, it probably woulda crisped me pretty good. Bad enough that it ripped up my back and shoulder muscles, making me hobble around like some crip. Docs said if I stuck to my rehab, I’d be back to my beefy, bouncy self in a few months.

Read the rest of this page »