Allegory: I apologize, Kay, for having spoken ill of Richard, earlier. OR "business is picking-up!"

 

We had just got plastered while on layover waiting for a load of molasses, somewhere around Crooked Neck, Utah.  There had been an old roadhouse out there on one of those long stretches, and it had truckers, bikers and all kinds, bunch of good old sh*t-kickers looking to get their drink on, shoots some pool and generally talk lousy mess to the waitresses and bartenders.

They had a thing looked like a holding cell like you would see in a police station back corridor.  Evil looking old thing, tinged in rust.  And they were laying bets about people actually getting in that and going until at least one got knocked unconscious.

I had a made a social disgrace of myself, three-sheets-in-the-wind, rambling on and on to some old saddle sores about Richard III, the Tempest, and then Hamlet.  They repaid that favor by grabbing me by the arms and legs chanting, "He's the Duke of Milan", and then they tossed me, square on my ass, in the middle of that god forsaken iron cage.

Unbeknownst to me, there was an old biker cumrag, with strap lines and moles and all, name of Kay Whitaker, who could dimly remember the Tempest from community college, where she may have written a term paper.  That or mopped the floor while some poor devil read aloud his term paper for a class of zipperheads.  You know the kind.  Nipples hanging around her belly button, and of course obligated to go topless.  Thong underwear.  Puts Fruit Roll-Ups or Twizzlers in her JD or vodka or Seven.  Don't know if she smells of leather, bear or crotch sweat.  But it is one of them, or a combination of all three.

"You Tally-ban or Cally-ban, my little toot-sweet?" She said stepping into the cage, smiling like she had just gulped down the prize canary.  I don't know if my heart had slowed to play my own funeral march, or I was hearing her engineer boots clumping the bare plywood floor.

I heard the singer from the band, having waved-off the music, laughing, saying "I know you might be saying, 'these boys sure know how to take a fall', but the health consequences are real-life for sure."

"C'mon my little Twinkie" she was growling with delight.  "Say 'my kingdom for a horse'".

It was then and there I realized that the sunburned old cottage cheese butch had actually read Richard, and my life flashed before my eyes.