Daddy's Dollars

so tonight I slept in a squat. At least that's what I think it was. I am in another universe and I have a blowdryer in my mouth and a tampon soaked in vodka up my ass. Last night, I couldn't stop staring at this hideous creature that sadly enough seemed to be a lady. She had stringy green hair that looked like cheap yarn and horribly fuzzy sailor tattoos splattered across her arms and her face. I stared and stared until she demanded I buy her a drink. It's a fee you owe me for staring, she said. So I bought her a PBR and a shot and she told me her name was Claire. What do you do, Claire? I asked. This was before all the words came out drenched in syrup. I am a dancer, she said. I stared at her in disbelief. You mean a stripper? I asked and probably did a terrible job hiding my repulsion, because she said it looked good on me. Then she also said she could eat fire with her pussy. At least that's what I thought she said. Right then it had gotten really loud (some Metal band) and all the pills I had taken at P's house started doing silly things to my head. We were, once again, in some dive on St. Claude.
You haven't seen bad neighborhoods if you haven't been to N'awlins.
P ditched me to have drunken fights with her boyfriend. I danced with an alluring creature in baseballs pants that later tried to choke me with a limp tongue.
And then I woke up on Claire's floor. She was passed out on a mattress with a 250 pound clown while that Almodovar flick, All about my mother, was playing on the TV. It felt like I was trapped in an art installation.
I had to get out of there fast, back to the Cornstalk that daddy's dollars paid for. Daddy who said I deserved to get ass-raped.
And now I am in East Texas, on my way to Austin to see J who studies there. I hope she has nice activities planned.