Early 1940's. On a darkened street full of litter. Warm night, especially when wearing a suit and bow tie. I've been conversing with a harlot whose face reminds me a lot of a cheap Anna Pavlova. That kind of thin cupid's bow mouth, twisting offers for sex into presidential portaits. Crooked tongues and a kiss I think might be worth the danger.
I offer to take her away in my car, and lead her into a black automobile. As soon as we slip into the backseat, I reveal my true identity as a cop. I pull my badge on her, and arrest her on the spot. Jor's driving. He's my partner. Between the two of us, the hooking beat is hot. Prostitutes of both sexes are shit out of luck, and we've got no sympathy.
Coming from a moralistic standpoint, this is very interesting. We are using our success in the police force to cover up a highly illegal interest of our own. It's not clear exactly what this is, but i'm sure that opium and puppy trafficking are probably involved. Our own queerness is seamlessly integrated in this mess; invisible in fact, against the dizzying contradictions of law and order.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment