Sue, Kim and Abbey, all dressed up and mellowed on vodka cranberry and beer, up to the cheek blush point and not being able to keep the eyelids fully open, walked into the Ramming Buffalo, downtown Jackson, Tennessee.
Upon entering the bar, the imminent scene they couldn’t possibly escape was a big green clothed man with a Russian hat on.
Their common feelings, however untold but visible from the grim they immediately wore and the joyful hesitation of looking each other in the eyes, drove them to sit right next to him. Giggling sublimely, they watched carefully the long green coat and the hat, dirty boots and wide shoulders. The music was on, playing a smooth Little Richard style piano boogie.
- Hello pretty girrrlz.
The man started, with a groovy Russian accent and went on pouring himself some vodka.
- Do you pretty girrrlz want some of dis contrrribution of motherrRrrrrussia to de worrrld?
Sue and Kim replied yes, without a moment of hesitation with two nods and wide smiles, while Abbey, staring at his crimson red ears asked:
- Let me guess. Are you Russian?
- My name is Ivan Ilov, son of Grojnyi Ilov and Ivanca Tavarishi, of Svetska, 100 kilometerrrrs south of Sofia, Bulgarrrria. You know Bulgarrrria? They call it the Siberrrria of the west. It is tough living derrre. Dis is what keeps us from freezing.
The two girls’ stomach began to tickle. Their heartbeats went up and an unnamed desire took them over like the dense fog sitting upon a valley in a damp, noiseless night. The situation that left them no choice but leaning forward to get closer while dreaming of words to get insinuated.
Sue was so close to touch the furry collar of his coat when Abbey asked abruptly:
- What was your father’s name again Ivan?
The music stopped.
All went down.
The local band, coming back from their break went on stage and the frontman said in the microphone with a deep clear baritone voice:
- Well we’re back folks, fresh’nnew, with some old’n sweet songs fo’ ya. Hope u like’em all right cause we’re gonna play’em all night...
, and started tuning his white fender Stratocaster.
By then, it was clear that this supposedly Ivan couldn’t remember what he had told them ten seconds earlier.
The despair streamed away all the accumulated joy in Sue and Kim’s bodies as does the cold wind to the fog, sweeping it off the valley. But Abbey, finding a city light in the foggy alley of hers, bent over and told him:
- Well faker, what’s your real name?
The former Ivan, now the protagonist, stood up and started unbuttoning his long coat. Each button, fully synched with the six first notes the frontman started on his guitar, playing Hendrix’s Hey Joe, revealed more of his haggard and naked torso.
Hey Joe! Where you’re goin’ with that gun in your hand?
He took the coat by its two shoulder-tips and slipped it off of his back. There stood a thin, weak and pale red headed ginger, so short that he couldn’t reach his boots and was instead standing on the bar chair.
Hey Joe! I said where you’re goin’ with that gun in your hand?
His was wearing nothing but a pair of grey woolen socks, and his underwear. A solid white short so tight that his not even fully erected penis, was quite noticeable. There he took off his hat and replied in a southern accent:
- Well dear, my real name is, Joe. And you’ve asked the question so few dared to ask.
And climbed down the chair, took Abbey by the hand and started paving the way down to the end of the bar naked, with glowing eyes so certain, that no woman could turn them down.
I’m gonna shoot my old lady. Cause she’s messed around with another man!
Abbey looked back at her friends but saw nothing but a milky white background theme filling the whole place. There was only her, the protagonist, and the band.
The protagonist grabbed his now fully erected penis by the top over his underwear.
- Yeah, my name is Joe, and this is my music you’re listening to. This is my band, and that’s me on the guitar and the bass and also the drums.
I said I’m gonna shoot my old lady. Cause she’s kinda messed around with another man.
Convinced and feeling secured already, Abbey put back her smile and walked along with his half-sized friend, paved the perspective-less path alongside the performing band from nowhere to the eternal whiteness.
, the solo went on.
