L.A. woman

 the bar projected 1960's topless go-go dancers on a small movie screen—
behind the bar
my friend and I were well liquored up
we leaned on the bar getting
the razz out
of each other
watching the film
a hot—
platinum blond made an inappropriately flashy entrance into the dump
with her controlled pretty boy, boy toy
"how does a man become like him",
I thought, as I
sucked and crunched the ice
of my lousy drink
the blond had her hair done up like
a 1920s fighter plane pin up
but she didn't seem like the type of girl
to be too into
that style
the two ordered drinks by squeezing
in between
my friend and me
but we no longer made big notice of foxy girls
Los Angeles in 2005, like always, had too many
good lookin's
there, the excitement of a pretty girl is diluted
I like it better back east,
where the adrenaline still flowed 
done
we left the bar
crossed the street like there was an earthquake
and fell into a red lit bar 
1:40 am we continued our razzing and laughing
my friend—
Johnny Lampshade
was letting me stay with him
at his parent's house
for a month
I was floating then
like always
homeless for my third year
later, after many good jokes
the white
of the platinum blonde
caught the corner
of my right eye
she was making her way through the red crowd
her finger
touched
my right shoulder
in a normal light 'excuse me' fashion
yet, then slowly as she passed, traced my shoulder
then down my chest
down my stomach
lower
then lower
to my belt
still passing
to finally
reach my crotch
she hooked her finger back up
as if she was taking a small taste of hot fudge
"it could have been a mistake", I thought
 I'm not too quick with cold water flirting
"did you s…."
"Yeah! Wow! Damn! what was that,"
Johnny Lampshade busted in with
I hadn't a clue
we went back to razzing and laughing
I don't trust girls like that anymore
the tramp