I was dirty. But my getaway was clean. So I thought.
When I say I was dirty, I don't mean I was corrupt. I mean I was covered with dirt. Literally. They had buried me alive. My crime...my sin...was wanting her. She was a free spirit. She was a gypsy. She was hot and sexy and...she was big fucking trouble. Who knew trouble came in such a sweet package?
We met at a carnival. I was with another girl and she said, "Let's go to the fortune teller...pleeeeeaseeeeee." I would've taken her to the dentist, or a Madonna concert, to make her just quit whining.
You guessed it. The fortune teller was "Lady Gisella", aka Ava Camille, aka the girl I fell in lust with. She was beautiful and gorgeous and lovely...and a pretty good fortune teller. She said, "You will meet a girl in your future...the girl you will just have to have." Of course, this made Mindy kind of grumpy. But she got over it as soon as "Lady Gisella" told her, "You will meet a rich and handsome and virile man, who will be crazy about you." I'm guessin' that didn't happen.
So, I took Mindy home and came back for "another reading." Long story short...and short story long...we "got together." This is a euphemism.
She took me home to meet her father and brothers. Did I mention that I was, and am, naive? They beat the shit out of me, stole my money, and buried me in the New Mexico desert. I dug myself out of this hole. This is not a metaphor.
I crept back into their gypsy camp and stole this old '58 Dodge pickup. Now I'm high tailin' it out of this godforsaken place. There's a filling station up ahead. I need to stop and wash up. I need to get clean.
Oops, three sets of headlights behind me. Coming up fast. Better cancel the pit stop. I'll keep y'all posted.