Insert Chassis Albuquerque: April 2018

Chapter 3 - The Short Skirt: "Broadway Quits" Beaumont family had money, lots of it.
Money is a funny thing. Funny if you got enough of it, live in a big house and drive an expensive car.
Not so funny if you don't.
But, despite all their wealth, was it just me or did everyone think Dr. Peter Beaumont was a dickface of immense proportions…?
The answer is, according to a very recent survey: Yes.
Beaumont had a disparaging habit of calling staff by their surnames.
"Is that o’Riley? O’Sullivan, that you? Or is it o’onnor…? O’Neill, you seen o’Riley…?” he’d say (we’d had a plethora of Irish sales staff recently).

Chapter 2 - The Short Skirt: "Beaumont's Pianos" though I was running late, I still made it to work on time.
That’s the difference between being responsible and not.
As with most people my age, youth had left me brain damaged. Mild brain injuries - very pleasant sounding medically - had left me somehow incapacitated. Work, any work, I'm dead against it. You see those successful people on the TV - well, imagine the work that must go into it…!
So I didn’t want to work.
But I had to.
And it was a routine I was still struggling to get to grips with.

Chapter 1 - The Short Skirt: "The Short Skirt "

Downtown Tokyo, New York: Even in hell you can find happiness.If you know where to look.
And that’s where I was: In hell.
Actually, I was scratching my balls and looking out the window of my very small, one bedroom apartment - there are two guys out there in the street fighting over a parking space. A woman pulled up on her little scooter and parked it in the space and then walked across the road to our building.
The two guys don't know what to do, so are leaving. They climb back into their beat-up cars and drive away in opposite directions. I watched the woman. She was taking her helmet off. Thick, beautiful blond hair tumbled out of it around her shoulders. This looked like trouble. She was full of what looked like female corruption. Part human, part myth, I'd never known a woman like this to exist...!

The Sundial Salesman - A Chapter

Related imageOne's groundswell can quickly degrade to a slump.
"Where to...?" the taxi driver asked.
As soon as I said: "Tokyo," he looked apprehensive.
"Tokyo? I didn't know people lived out there any more - well, that'll cost extra," he said and got on the phone to his insurance company. "Is this it, the John - is that Lennon or Lemon? Real classy," the taxi-driver reads, straining his eyes when we pulled up outside the building, because years ago already someone's craftily made the effort to clamber up to the sign above the door and bother to alter the wording so that it reads: "The John `Lemon'" building.
Almost immediately a guy carrying a woman off his shoulder appeared and asked the taxi driver for a light. And as if she knew the taxi-driver was watching her dead body, she raised her disheveled, broken blonde head from off her man’s back. The cab driver couldn't see a cigarette anyplace on either of them and, on second thoughts, quickly checked with me in the back seat, just to be sure the three of us weren't in it together for some kind of hijack fuck-fest.