This week, stories inspired by One Cool Blow. Because, there are so many possible meanings. If you think you know the origin of One Cool Blow, play along until the end of the week to let others draw their own conclusions. To follow the series from the first post, click here. Thanks for continuing to Click the Cootchie.
The way she angled her eyes at him, underneath all that hair……..he always let it build from a slow burn. Anyhow, he enjoyed building fires, was accomplished. The trick was how to put them out, because she never, ever delivered more than the bat of an eyelash or a lingering touch of her magenta-tipped fingers when she handed him his drink.
He fed the flame for a while, watching her and sipping. Scotch and her moves made for some good kindling. Until the explosion. It always came, sent him running out into the black night, the dim alley out behind the jazz place. The sensuous strains of the stuff bounced along the walls behind him as he fled for his usual walk. A ramble through this part of town cleared any head at two in the morning.
His footsteps shrieked to a halt when he rounded the corner, tried to pass through the side alley back to the street. Three beefy men were clustered there. Transacting. Yeah. That’s what it was called around there.
You here for some blow, man? One of them whispered like a gunshot through the bass line. It’s cool if you are. Got plenty on offer.
He eyed the partner to the white stuff, the sleek steel in his other hand. Coughing, he couldn’t string words together into a sentence.
Either you make a purchase, or you get on out of here and forget what you seen. Don’t stand there with your mouth open, catching flies. They ain’t good for your health, you know.
Back. He pretended he’d confronted royalty as he slowly backed away. Afraid they would shoot him if he showed them his backside, he crept around the corner and ran. Retracing his steps through the rising strains of sax and horn. Parting the mist of the smoky interior of the bar. He missed her wave in the wake of the slamming of the heavy front door.
The sound of his retreat echoed in her ears as she tucked a stray amber strand of hair behind her ear. With fluttering heart, she whispered it to nobody.
Why do the hottest men blow cool?