Defeated, I flew to Los Angeles to visit my then-girlfriend, Cross. We probably whipped-creamed our nipples and licked it off for him, before letting him join us in the sugar rush of tangled tongues and boobs — basic bachelor party shenanigans. The crowd followed him onto the street where he sang outside. He slumped in his chair, barely there. Spike just stood against the wall with his full-sleeved inked arms crossed, looking tough. I got too lonesome. When we asked her for her wildest bachelor party stories, Crane, never one to peddle in bullshit, got more real than we could have ever imagined. Mike, the owner, found us and led us up narrow snaky stairs into the secret bowels of the club.
Atty and I were to split a cab and go work a bachelor party together after we made a couple hundred bucks. Mike, the owner, found us and led us up narrow snaky stairs into the secret bowels of the club. I had no one in my life to have sex with, but the thought of getting pregnant hounded me. We pushed two twin beds together, pulled off the ugly orange bed spread and got busy making out and undressing one another. This was a blue-collar operation, and I knew I was going to be leaving with the bare minimum. I also remember Mindy snorted fat lines of coke with one of the guys and then rode on his shoulders around the house long enough that I was worried he would drop her. All of them looked tattered and torn and much older than they said they were. When we found the correct double-wide, we pulled over and laughed hysterically. We moved with the mob of people onto the street into punk mayhem. He hated her family. When I got dressed and left, I felt more depressed and alone than I had in a long time. One took a phone call and walked outside. Then he handed me 40 bucks. During the second dance, I asked him if he loved her. Kacey Blue-Eyes, a weed trimmer from Yucca Valley, came to see me three times in a two-week period. Bottom of the Hill was already packed with punks drinking beer in Doc Martens and studded denim jackets. I guessed they had already asked her for a girl-girl show. While she worked as a piercer during the day, I hit the streets of Silver Lake to window shop. I adopted a stray kitten instead. A guy got too smitten. He slumped in his chair, barely there. The other girl, a skinny, cute brunette who was empty-eyed and bored, was already there. We drove around and around until we realized the address was in a trailer park. We shook hands, and I changed into my pretend catering outfit in my car and drove to the nearest ATM. Often, that stripper is me.
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