By Eric Lastick
Jacklyn Strumpet is bailed out of the London drunk tank…hour of 3am, New years, less tea time, in the wee early morning—receives of her belongings…and a polite wishful, “Best in the new year, Madam May” Say of the jailer and heavy handed ring of keys. The Caddy call of her jail mates, ms-charmed & bar bound ugliest; wave a dirty hand and bated breath whistle—– towards this hard pressed woman Strumpet… as a late night rumble with her own emotions…stumbles with her drinks, 7 & 7 ale chasers, less a man in waiting. Although some intrigue to the stranger by the name that only reads as ”Chappo’ on the bail bond ticket. First name just as ‘Rog’ ? Befuddled is Jacklyn, but most revealed to be set free, this new years early…as her first stop is back at her small flat, just outside the city. Her pillow sack and case is where she dives her money. She’ll dress the day and be the working girl she so self measurably is.
TAKING ON A NEW LEASE ON LIFE, Ms Jacklyn arrives right back at the lonely corner tavern. One last gift to the best dressed lady lush in a long legged snazzy built luscious lady, she truly is. She places herself confidently at center bar of a lone drink. Then rightfully resourced to her private section just off bar of failed dreams. The local mobs and mob scenes which pay complimentary drink at her fair circle. She is a real head turner with her hair up and pretty loaded indeed!’ She can put um down with the best of um. That indeed! And on an empty stomach none the less. She draws attention to our fair Londoner city…and any and all as she sees—–right through her glassy eyes and foggy smile…dodging the wrecking ball of any thought towards marriage…it’s plans,,,weight gains…and a place to bed a permanent home.
Restrictions no, not at all. Yes, highball drunk and deranged—with aces of the last clasp of street touch, making her way in a cramped corridor sinking fast to the ladies room…and straight back on an outskirts view of no exits at all…as she makes her way, a tavern tab, racing past the heckling men. The iron-on beat ups of old rummages…card swingers. Poole hall faces of grim and losing. TV screens of owes of the race horse finish line.====right until dawn. as all glisten call on taxi grab. Subway cars…and city runs crosswalk empties…as our best dressed Lady Strumpet, choose of another Daccuri, or perhaps an extra dip of bloody Mary sip…and borrowed from an occupied stool?
SIR ROG’ CHAPPO….decides to go for a solitary stroll, this New years afternoon.
(GLASS ALWAYS HALF FULL)
—AS IF LIGHT YEARS, THE 1960’S AND 70’S, TO AN ODE, AND ADMIRABLE HITCH AND TIE OF THIS NEW YEARS, GLASS HALF FULL, HER’S HALF EMPTY.. A NEW TWIST EVOLVES!
The trees out of Londoner walkways of a step in time, lay of the side set pubs. Pony shows and long lost dogs of latter day peace and love—high tail in salient sentences of friendly backdrops, the getaways of an old rock star, whom so long lived and styled in these cramped in corners. Crazed guests, relivingold lifestyles. Vicariously bold, in fake emboldens. Never know the rants and rave of such hill climbs, which decide the guts, and all of the glory of an English rock band called Family. Music industries suit-tree the grazing, take in the cow tow, to bring upon a country road. A raisin fest of cockatal and Tomas,twin. Chappo saluted ofhiber shots, raised of his own law for some sort of peace and calm. Glasses and shots, the cranberries and ol’ girly smiles,as an old admirer, rock the boat, and tipsy riled. A havers club look-in for a safety raft, yet all jelly minded. Quick skirted to top. Toes polished in moths of mole-ville. High on gins and candies, yet yellow jackets sting airtight out of the old hippie nation. English swing and save, as all this, and all a good fellow wants, is a little space to stretch and enjoy a good cheer to the new incoming year. A subsequent scratch of voice once admired in it’s originality, et still quite an inspiration —-too his fine catalogue…and in it’s surrounds and merriment of the very best. Then Sir Chappo locks eyes of the Ms Pretty on the bar stool right next to him…as Jacklyn Strumpet touch full ale bottles as they meet. He, Chappo was the one whom set bail. She just senses. ”To old times’, he says. She just thanks him with a smile and ups and leaves. His glass bottle half full, hers so half empty, the bar calls count to less many.
