The girl with the bottle green highheels by L.S. (love letters to the dead .TXT) 📖

The girl stood over the counter and payed her milk and caramel-icecream with a lot of small chance. She had a short red pony cut and a gun, hidden under her shirt. The way she counted her money, Dickie found very energetic. He watched her back with glassy eyes and puckered lips, holding a six-pack of beer in his left hand and a tiny small stoogy in his right. The thing with the gun was quite alright with him. He had a old fowling-piece under his bed either. He used it ussually to play the strong man in front of the mirror but also had the idea of fighting back the FBI or CIA or whatever would stand in front of his gate one day . Anyway, broken doors makes you paranoid and I can tell you, Dickie didn't even got a door. The girl finished with counting and paying and Dickie simpered at her on a naive and foolish way when she was walking by. She just rolled her eyes and left the filling station store tottering in her bottle green high heels.
"Hey, you smell like strawberry pie, babe!" He cried after her.
"Don't get to bold, Kid!" She whispered back over her shoulder and stoped next to the door. "What you looking at, hm?"
"You, you got'a voice like a god damn angel, you know that, sweetie? Let's get out of this one-stupid-fuckin'-horse-Town together, gal! Com'on! Let's get out'a here!"
"Where are you from, Country Boy? Escaped from the madhouse tonight? Don't get the way back?" She turned away and left the store for good.
"That was your chance to have lot's of fun tonight, well if you don't want to - if you chanche your mind, anytime, it's fine with me!""
He watched her going to her car with a innocent self forgetting countenance. Sadisfied in his naive ambition on the one hand, and on the other hand lost and longing for some sad reason. No one likes to watch such a young, childish Kid suffer on just beeeing that helpless and allone, expekt thous, who are much ruffer and taffer but lonely the same.
Dickie payed for the sixpack and left the store. He returned to his car but in front of it leaned this larche, angry boy so he kept his distance.
"Hey man, what your'e doing?" He grinned nervously at the boy and cocked his head .
"Waiting for you."
"How did you know it was my car?"
"It's the only one that fucked up."
"What's the madder, man?"
"I want you and your durty, little ass stay away from my sister, hear me?"
Dickie ducked his head almost imperceptibly.
"Jeah, I - sure, I just - I just wanted to have a small talk with her, man. Really."
"So you just wanted to talk!" The guy looked at him sharply. "Oh boy, why you didn't told me befor?"
"Yeah, what's wrong with a chat, man?"
"Well -" The tall boy came over and grabbed his Jacket. "If you ever talk to her again..."
"I will never - talk - to her - again, I promise. Let go, man." he tapped him on the Chest with trembling fingers. "Com'on. Let go. "
"You don't touch me again." The guy gripped harder and lifted him up.
"I didn't touch you, I didn't, - man...."
"You rat, you touched me with your stinking finger."
"Sorry. I'm really sorry, maan -?" Dickie looked up to him pitiful.
The guy groweld and raised his fist.
"Don't, man. Don't. I've done nothing to you." He gasped in a small voice.
But the tall guy looked at him hatefully and threw him with amazing ease against the car. It made an ugly noise.
The guy went home with his sister.
Dickie awoke with bad headakes and in a state of shock. While he was driving down the road, he decided to do something. Take his shotgun and do something.
But don't worry. After a night of sleeping he cut this crap out.

Publication Date: 09-18-2011

All Rights Reserved

Dedication:
deticated to Bucky the Kid