Afternoon in the Sun
I awaken to darkness and I’m instantly more worried about the cleanliness of the bag over my head than why it’s there or the less likely possibility that I’ve gone blind. Removing the bag I discover I’ve been in the bed of a rusted pickup truck, thus explaining the soreness. I look around. A see of mobile homes raised up on blocks. No exit in sight. I start to run. The pastels are faded. The windows are shatted with plastic stapled in place of them. It’s not long before they catch up.
"Look, fellas," I plead. "Let’s just talk, please. I have sensitive skin. I get ashy in the heat. I feel that maybe if we postpone this ordeal to get some cocoa butter it’ll make the whole skinning less of a to-do. Whaddaya say?"
One of the grunts tosses a still-sealed bottle of Aveeno lotion at my feet. Must’ve wanted it to be special. I open it and it takes forever because I’m sheepish. I start glazing my arms and I hesitate about removing my shirt. I know how pasty it is underneath and although I’m about to be murdered by desert freaks I’m still incredibly self conscious. Oh goodness, I have pit stains too.
One of the beared grunts steps forward stroking his hairy pubic mask.
"Dance…" he commands.
"Excuse me, sir?"
"I…I don’t follow." I sputter. Despite my confusion I start grinding my fat ass until I’m afraid it’s about to fall out of my shitty yoga pants.
"Dan!" His tone sounding more familiar now.
It was Matthew McConaughey. We’d been traveling together and he’d finally coerced me into removing my shirt a week ago.
"You need to wake up. You’re all blistered. Put this lotion on and drink some water. Jesus, I thought I lost ya there, buddy."
"It was just a bad dream, Matthew McConaughey."
"I’ll say. Now if we can just find our way out of this trailer park."
A bulldog winks at me as we pass.