Yellow Cat Honky Tonk

The Yellow Cat’s lit up like three dog fire and the dirt drive’s breaking down four bald tires of a maniac driver in an old Country Squire.

It’s got a 400M with the Weiland heads and the Carter 650 mixed down to three threads with the C-6 tranny and the spool rear end. Three inch pipes clear out the back end.

The door’s hanging open because it just can’t close and the reams of sick lemonade hoochie music throws out the sound of marginal women that are wearing no clothes.

You got a busted out window with the long shadows falling from the greasy purple lights and the back room’s crawling with the snake oil charming of a dead-end calling. There’s a blood stain on the floor, but nobody’s talking.

Inside the men are all dragging through the slimy mud bottom of the wormy backwards dance of Lilith’s cousins falling all over themselves for a twenty dollar calling.

There’s a dirty older girl with a flower tattoo and some long fake hair and she’s missing a tooth that was knocked out one night by a out of state trucker. He left out alive, but he was almost cut in two.

Through the back of the building, the lights get dimmer till you hit the back tables with the hole in the center where the down and out wander and the needle enters.

With her hair tied back and her stretch marks showing, there’s a dark skinned goddess oiled up till she’s glowing purple, green and flashing neon and a glass pipe smoking. She can’t remember her name, but she’s good at the stroking.

Now, you can’t pull a knife without somebody knowing that you’re not here for the girls or the blue rock token and the music keeps going but a light gets broken.

I kick down a door all the way in the back, she’s making her money with his sweat on all down her back and pooling up on the floor underneath her coupled rack. He’s got his eyes closed and his head leaning back.

She knows to look scared but she isn’t even surprised, the kid’s screaming in the corner bleeding out his eyes, the knife’s running through his blood between her thighs.

She’s got beautiful eyes, black and already halfway dead, like an old Ford Torino’ll knock the hair off your head and take you down a straight road with no corners ahead. But if you got to make a turn, it’s made out of lead.