Buy The Silent Hustler
by Sean Meriwether
[Lethe Press, 10.2009]

Originally published on VelvetMafia.com [07.2005]

Burn the Rich

The dashboard lights flicker in self-contained storm, then burn out. We’re washed in iridescence borrowed from the moon and headlights. He smiles wickedly, taking this as a validating omen. I watch his machinating mouth, wanting to stick my cock between those teeth and fill him with piss, let it spill over his lips and silence him for ten seconds. Instead I lean over and kiss him, sample his stale odors, the void of his stomach, the fever of his madness. He latches onto me and kisses back hard. The truck careens up the barren highway, crossing dotted while lines, the dry August moon our only witness.

He breaks the kiss with a high pitched laugh. “Fucking dressed in GAP, shopping at Walmart with their faces glazed by fake bargains. Claiming patriotic consumerism when all the money goes to China. They got their Prozac and vodka and shrinks and Big Macs to get them through the days, killing themselves because their lives have no purpose.” He screams out the window, “Wake up you motherfuckers! You’re alive!”

Dirk grabs his cock through his stained jeans. He’s been tenting for hours, but now he’s splitting denim. He shifts in his seat and spreads his legs. “They’re out there dreaming about McDonalds and SUVs. About iPods and ice cream. About fat titties and wet pussy. About everything the tv told them they’re supposed to want.” He machine-gun laughs, the harsh sound adding a boil to my blood. “Whimpering in their sleep because they can’t afford to have it all and nothing they own gives their life meaning.”

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