April 19, 2010
Lost Opportunity
Last night I dreamed that David Johansen worked at an old-fashioned filling station in Dallas. He had taken the name Lorenz as his filling station name and had it embroidered on his shirt. We flirted, and I strongly hinted I’d like to go out with him. He suggested I stop by the station office once I was done with my filling station bidnis.
Like a fool, I decided I had to walk home to Dutton Drive and change clothes or maybe freshen my make-up. Once I got back to my childhood home on Dutton Drive, I collapsed and took a long nap. I really had to hustle to get back to the filling station, and I got so damn hungry that I finally stopped at a little snack shop where I bought a couple of slices of cold pizza. I wanted to warm them, so I put them in a dilapidated old toaster oven. It turned out that the toaster oven was also a charcoal grill, and the pizza slices dropped down onto the hot coals — hot cheese bubbling like lava. But I retrieved what remained of the slices and resumed my walk to the filling station.
And then I woke up. Damn it.
David Johansen almost joined the list of those I almost fucked in my dreams.
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first, I think that was the dude we saw in the hammock, who made sure the power station stayed powered.
second, if you’re hungry, stop at hardeman’s.
He sure looked like David Johansen.
By the way, does Hardeman’s ship to Illinois?
Reckon not. Besides, you really need to soak up that smell of smoke and grease. I wish they could bottle that.
I offer a special Dallas to the hinterlands courier service.
Amy and I have been using some napkins left over from hardeman’s that still smell like bbq.
I bet if you sit inside and eat at that little counter, your clothes smell like bbq.
And bbq smoke! That heavenly incense!
all you have to do is walk in there and pick up your order to smell that way.
Now I wish I had not walked all the way to Dutton Drive and taken that nap and then fooled around reheating pizza. I should have walked down to Hardeman’s and soaked up that bbq aroma and then hightailed it back to the filling station. David Johansen or hammock dude — I’d have had either one in my power, I bet.
bbq is like missed-opportunity sex.
You bet. You always want more. More . . . you know. Ma’am.
Next time you stop by Hardeman’s, let me know, okay? I already have a P.O. box, and I’m willing to pay for an express shipment of heavily scented napkins.
I’m on it like bbq smoke on a napkin.
I don’t recall almost fucking anyone in a dream. Dreams don’t allow me that pleasure.
For what it’s worth, Phil, your Avett Brothers post may have allowed me the pleasure of almost getting to almost fuck David Johansen (in my dream). The Avett Brothers clip reminded me of this Johansen clip from Wrong-Eyed Jesus. I think. Maybe. In my dream.
Anyways, all y’all, don’t all y’all think he’s almost worth almost fucking?
David Johansen, I mean.
[...] I feel bad about Rick’s and Danny’s friend Hugo, so here is a song for Hugo. And Hugo’s friends. From David Johansen. Yeah, him. [...]
My pleasure, Sheila.