Chapter 11

Forty Second and Jacobsen

"Where to from here?", Jeffrey said aloud to himself as he peered out the window of his beat-up Taurus. Beige would never have been his first choice in colour for a car, but, as Jeffrey often replied when asked, 'when you're offered a price like that, hard to turn it down'. In truth, he had only bought the car to stymie his mothers continuous complaints about the smell of cigarettes emanating from her car whenever Jeffrey went out for a night on the town. He had finally had enough one morning and went down to the used car dealership (Ed's Big and Bigger Car Lot) around the corner, eventually leaving with a 1993 Ford Taurus sedan.

"When the fuck was I down here?"

Jacobsen Ave was well known across the city as something of a rough area of town. A collective hangout spot for drifters and addicts alike. Jeffrey was certain he had no reason, past or present, to visit these streets. Pawnshops neighbouring pawnshops facing pawnshops.

Christ, look at all the pawnshops.

This sparked a memory Jeffrey had of a small, crumpled slip of paper he had been thumbing in his pocket the night before. A short, vague moment in the course of the evenings events.

How drunk did I get, fuck. Think, Jeffrey, think. What do you remember? You were in a car. Whose car? It wasn't the Detectives, no. This car had leather seats. Dark leather. Not quite black, maybe brown? And that smell. Burnt hair? Cigarettes. Whiskey. And perfume? Beautiful perfume. Legs with smooth, buttery skin. And how they brushed against mine playfully in the backseat. And we were alone. Were we alone? C'mon, Jeffrey, think! Who was she? From the bar, the woman in the corner. Yes! It was her. Her voice, silken, and her beautiful, unexpected, citrine eyes. We spoke. But of what? Who was she? Oh, the blissful moan of her orgasm. How could I forget her? I couldn't have been that drunk. No man could be that drunk. Where the hell did I leave that paper?

As this last thought escaped him, he turned the car back up Jacobsen towards home.

Hope the old woman didn't do the laundry...