Berlin News Agency

Trannyslut856 does her make-up and wig

In the bright light at home

And makes the drive in

Or...

If it’s daytime

She’ll do it in her car

Right there

In the Berlin News parking lot

Surrounded by Ford F150’s.

After passing through

The entrance doors

She immediately heads 

For the bathroom 

Where she changes her clothes

From male to female

And puts on her heels.

She inserts a lubed medium size 

Butt plug into her asshole

To keep it pliable and open

For comfortable fucking

Which she prefers

Even though most men

Just want to get blow jobs.

After she is finished dressing

She checks herself out

In the dirty smeared mirror.

Trannyslut856 adjusts her silicone breast forms

In her pocket bra

Until she’s satisfied.

She’s reminded

That she paid almost $400

For her convincing inserts

Including nipples and

‘Realistic’ weight and form

In Philadelphia

Just across the bridge.

She picks at the real hair in her wig

Which cost her a fortune as well.

Running her long fingers through it

Fluffing it out a bit so it is full.

Today she chose red

Which from her experience

Is favored by white men.

Black men prefer blondes.

Young men prefer long hair

While older men like shorter.

She applied another coat

Of red lipstick

Liked by everyone.

“God! You’re looking old, bitch!”

She curtly said to her foggy reflection.

She was 50 years old

And the wrinkles were evident

Through her foundation and blush.

“Thank god it’s dark in there.”

She looks at herself critically

One last time

Purses her lips

And heads back out

Into the lobby

Full of regained confidence.

She works her well-practiced walk

Through the saloon doors

Into the brightly lit 

Adult bookstore

Portion 

Of the 

Berlin News Agency.

Common white pegboard walls

And shelves

Covered in plastic, latex, vinyl and metal

Endowed with toys, accoutrements and packaging.

There is a long black counter

At which behind

Two men sit.

A tired flourescent hum is heard

Over the distant sounds of porn

Seeping through the walls

At the back.

The place is open

24 hours a day

7 days a week

So anything electrical 

Is getting a work-out.

She stops at the counter

Comfortable now.

Says 

“Hi”

To the two men 

Working there.

The rotund man

Returned her greeting

With a lisp

While the other one

A midget

Sat on a tall stool

And remained quiet.

Behind them

Was a small flat-screen TV

Which played fades

Of various snap-shots 

Of the same rotund man’s face

Being pressed up to 

Different womens’ naked buttocks

Like a car commercial.

Trannyslut856 chit chats

And flirts with the two men

For a bit.

She’s a regular here.

Everybody knows her.

She’s friendly and confident.

She loves sex.

She’s here 2-3 times a week.

She fits right in.

Turning

She makes her way back 

Into the play lounge 

Itself.

The midget buzzes her through.

She doesn’t have to pay the $10 fee

For single males

As ladies and couples

Get in for free.

It is dark

Save for the neon blue

That surrounds the doorways

Of the row of peepshow booths.

The place had that

‘Never Been Cleaned’

Feeling to it.

It wasn’t unwarranted.

Immediately she felt at home.

Various straight and gay pornos

Played in the booths

And in one

A couple was getting busy

Fucking.

The tranny watched them for a moment

X-rated videos flashing

In her glossy black eyes.

It made her hot

To watch them go at it.

She walked past them

Being careful not to slip

On the glowing plexi-glass catwalk.

She was very practiced in high heels.

The back of the BNA lounge

Is divided into different play areas.

The rooms on the right

Had low walls

Padded platform beds and benches.

These rooms were popular

With girls that liked gang bangs.

Dominants that would share their subs.

Daddys that would share their baby girls.

Anonymous local rednecks would crowd around the woman

Hoping to get in on the action

If they were given permission.

One of the rooms 

Was reserved for gay sex.

Trannyslut856 preferred 

The larger room on the left

Which was a theater

With an oversize screen

Showing four straight movies

Continuously.

She positions herself

In a prominent spot

Without blocking any views.

She says 

“Hi” 

And waves

To anyone she sees.

She’s a very aggressive girl.

She knows that this appeals

To the person

Who knows what they want

And are not hesitant about asking for it

Or those that are in a hurry.

If it’s busy

She could have sex

With six to fourteen

Different partners in one shift

Without moving from her spot.

If there is no traffic

She will walk around the theater

Saying 

“Hello”

And making small talk

Flirting

Until she finds another partner.

This usually works

For the average person

Who needs a little recognition

Or encouragement to play.

Maybe

They’re a little shy.

So she’ll sit in a quiet place

Where it’s a little darker

And they can be more discreet.

But 

She’ll always return

To her prominent position

To advertise

Her presence.

Sometimes 

It can be a long wait

Inbetween

So she’ll just sit 

And watch the film.

If a genuine girl

Shows up in the theater

She leaves to play elsewhere

Or will even go back out 

To talk to the men at the counter.

No matter how good she looks

No matter how versatile her talents are

The magic of a genuine pussy

Will entrance every man 

In the place.

Everybody ignores trannys

Once genuine pussy flesh

Enters the theater.

It was all part of the game.

She knew when to hold

Or throw in 

The whole shit-pile

Of cards.

Outlaw Looking For A Bed

“I need a bed with a good, hard, strong wood.”

He said with a verbose

Argentinian accent.

While he said this

He raised his forearm

Bent up

At a right angle

Fist clenched

Winking and smiling at me

To make sure

I understood

His erection joke.

I did.

He did this in front of his obese

Sloppy white girlfriend.

In contrast

He was very tan and fit.

A skinny biker dude

With lots of blue-grey tattoos on his arms.

Dressed like a farmer

In jeans

Worn cowboy boots

And a tank tee-shirt

With a cigar box

Tucked into it

Right above his heart.

He wore a frayed straw cowboy hat.

His dirty grey goatee

Hung down about 3” below his chin.

He was centered by

A giant bronze medallion 

Belt buckle.

An unseen cloud

Of cigar smoke

Followed him

As he led his woman around

Looking at the beds on display.

When he found one he liked

He would grab it by the headboard

And give it a good violent shake

Rattling it to it’s core

Aggressively

Like he was wrangling an alligator.

He’d look at his ivory prize

And say something to her in Spanish

Using a firm, controlling

Loud voice

And then laugh 

Pervertedly

Indicating that this bed would not

Hold up to their action.

He’d say a few more things

In Spanish

And move on to the next one

Repeating his previous actions.

Finally

He stopped at one

And it didn’t move

Whatsoever.

Didn’t budge

When he tried to shake it.

“Amigo!”

He called me.

“How much ees thees bed?”

“What size?”

I asked him.

“Size for a king!”

He laughed through cigar teeth and beard.

I told him the price.

“Oh no.”

He said.

“If I told my momma I peed that much for a bed...”

He dragged his finger slowly

Across his throat

Gesturing a slitting.

“I kid you not.”

He caught my surprised grin.

“She made me sleep on the wooden floors with the sheeps and the goats when I was

  a boy!”

He said to me as he left shaking his head.

“The most sturdy bed I ever had my friend!”

The Hustler

Pedro was a hustler.

He hung out at the bar

The poolhall

Or the street corner.

He’d come across 

As a latino friend.

Everybody knew Pedro.

But he would fuck you.

Your girlfriend

Your momma

Your father

Your brother

As long as it meant

He was making a buck.

It was his business.

And you knew it.

He knew it.

But it was like the lottery.

And he always came through.

So whether you were looking 

For a game

A score

A loan 

For a score

Or a game.

You could count on Pedro

No matter the outcome.

Such is the honor

Of liars, letches and thieves on the street.

He lived to walk the city blocks

Until somebody was done with him.

Not masked by banks or corporations

Nor the cloud of government.

A silent extermination.

Only his mother and her sister

Showed up to the funeral.

She Could Put Frost On A Fire

“Do you wanna know something?”

He said.

“I’ll let you in on a little secret.”

“The ONLY reason that I can remember the date of our anniversary...”

He looked to make sure she wasn’t in earshot

Then continued.

“Is that I made it the combination to my gun case thirty years ago...”

Chinese Laundry

I sent my dirty dreams out to be cleaned and pressed

And they’ll be delivered on Tuesday
In paper sacks tied with rough twine

Colors bright

Whites white

All of the washed 

Brush stroke blocks of a Rothko

Stacked in piles.

I told the Chinaman

Easy on the starch

And I’m hoping he takes me seriously

This time.

I Remember Baltimore

I remember Baltimore

With it’s store front churches

And bars conveniently located just next door.

“Sammy’s Bear Den”  

Or

“Beanie’s Bugaloo”

Next to the

“Most Righteous All High Being Divinity Of Christ And All Of His Angels Baptist Church”

With the Holy Reverend Brother

Packing a pistol

At the pulpit

Each Sunday.

Every thread on his suit

Could be counted

Into the high thresholds.

His premium-priced cologne

Wasn’t bought 

In that neighborhood.

Every gold tooth in his mouth

While he screamed and hollered and sweated

Was paid for 

By the church.

There were bar-b-que picnics

In the park 

Across the street

In which the congregation

Congregated

And took part 

In pork

And chicken

With a weekly competition

Of bar-b-que sauce

Made by the different members of the flock.

And collard greens cooked in fat

With corn bread

And beans

And white flour pastries from the bakery

Up the street

For desert.

It was an all day affair.

And then many of the same congregation

Would be congregating

At

“Lou Lou’s”
"The Hideaway"

Or  “Comfy’s Corner”

Or “Dexter’s Soft Spot”

Washing their sins

Away

With pilsners and shot glasses.

Sunday tithes here

Were generally more than 10%.

Groundhog Day Morning 2014

Rising pink morning sun

Clambering

Summiting on tar and steel rooftops

Covered in blizzard

Illuminating

The lofty snow varnished
Barren tree branches

Outside of my winter window.

The blush hue

Of the sunlight on the snow

Casts cherry blossoms

In full bloom.

A most delicate illusion.

It is far from spring.

88 Year Old Pimp (Ghetto Fabulous)

“WOW!”

“THIS is crazy!”

I shouted.

I was surrounded by gilded 

Metallic

Oriental

Red and gold wallpaper

In the entryway.

I walked up the stairs

Which was more of the same.

The place was empty

Except for a pile of

Mirrored vertical blinds

Of varying lengths

Laid out upon 

A once ivory

But now a mellow tobacco smoke yellowed

Wall-to-wall semi-shag carpet

In the living room.

Every visible door

Had been outfitted

With a custom made mirror

That covered the entire surface.

“This is insane!”

I exclaimed to Kevin

Who popped his head

Out of one of the rooms.

“He was a pimp!”

“What would you expect?”

He responded.

“This guy had mirrored blinds down the center of the room!  Floor to ceiling!  I know.  I had

  to take them down!  Those bitches are heavy!  He wants me to save them so he can use

  them in his new place...”

He started laughing.

“In an old age complex!”

I took a moment to walk around.

The kitchen pass through

Was painted flat nightclub black

And had black vertical blinds.

The one bedroom was painted

Bright yellow

Coordinated with 70’s lime green bamboo wallpaper

Gloss black trim

Custom louvered blinds

With matching black slats

And yellow canvas ladder straps

Mirrored sliding glass closet doors

That opened to reveal

Beautifully cedar lined interiors.

“For his fucking awesome clothes!” 

I later learned.

The main bedroom

Had a raised polished wooden dancefloor

With an opening cut out into it

Which once fitted a tailor-made

Water bed.

I went back to find Kevin

And he could tell 

By the look on my face...

“His name is George.  He just moved into a home.  He’s 88 years old...a real character.

  Smokes, drinks.  The whole nine yards.  The real deal.  He’s gotta sell this place.”

“THIS is AMAZING!”

I said.

“Tell me you saw his furniture!”

“No.  Place was empty when I got here except for the blinds.”

“Those mirrored blinds are the tits!”

I said with a lot of enthusiasm.

“Reminds me of Times Square back in the day!”

“Who knows.  Mebbe that’s where he got the inspiration.  I think that he told me he had

  ‘offices’ there.”

“The realtor told me to take those down.  He said we need to lose the wallpaper, the 

  raised floor in the bedroom and the ‘gay’ buddy booth dividers back there...you probably

  didn’t even see those.  We need to get rid of all of the black paint and cover this place

  in neutrals.”

“Wow.  This is like destroying someone’s work of art.”

I felt sad for a moment.

Then Kevin reminded me 

Why I was there.

“You just gonna look around or do you wanna get paid?”

I got to work.

Seemed a shame to participate in this demolition.

I found out 

While scraping and painting

That George grew up in Brooklyn...

That he used to be a relatively 

High-profile pimp in the Tenderloin

And that he decorated 

This place himself.

He considered himself

A ‘Designer’

With 

‘Excellent taste’.

He did little bouts of time

Here and there

But nothing serious.

Never married.

The ‘Designer’ himself

Came by a few hours later

To check our progress.

“Why do they want you to take down all of the wallpaper?”

He asked.

He stood at the top of the stairs 

In his black and blueish wrinkled well-conditioned skin.

He had a generic filter

Releasing writhing snake smoke trails

From his long black fingers.

Even though he appeared frail

I actually thought he looked 

Pretty fit for his age.

“Looked perfectly fine the way it was.”

He continued.

“They just don’t recognize champagne taste.”

Kevin and I didn’t say anything.

“Can I take you guys out to lunch?”

Was his response.

“Where would you like to go?”

Kevin asked.

“The diner?  Pizza?”

“Oh no.”

Was his response.

“It has to be somewhere where they serve a martini...or two...”

At the bar 

I asked him

How he liked living in a home.

“My doctor told me to do it.  I’m 88 years old.  Surprisingly I don’t have any kids!”

He laughed a little.

“At least none that I’m aware of!  No baby-momma has come after me, anyways.”

“So I listened to him.  Regrettably.  He thought I was getting to the age where I should 

  have some supervision since I don’t have family to check in on me.  I sell this place...I can 

  live there until I die.  Ironically, I’ll probably die trying to live in that place.”

“To answer your question...”

He turned to look at me.

George had a giant grill of gold teeth.

“It sucks.  I hate it.  I’m smoking and drinking like I don’t give a fuck, because I don’t!  It’s 

  against the rules...RULES!  I’ve never lived by rules kid.  THEY have rules!”

“Those glorified hallway police bastards keep coming down on me!  I’ve only been there

  two weeks!  I’m just being myself.  Not hurting nobody else.”

“They’ll kick me out for sure.  There’s no way I’ll last in there.”

After lunch

Back at pimp central 

I continued with the work on the wallpaper

While Kevin did some demo

In the other room.

I thought about George.

Where he’s been

And where he’s going.

Part of me wanted to leave the wallpaper in place.

To see what his furniture looked like in the living room

Mirrored blinds hung back up.

Like a Sin City showcase.

To see what his clothes looked like lined up in the closet.

But

I had a job to do

And like a pimp

I wanted to get paid.