3 tins

Sep 21 2014

in the back seat, Humphrey Bogart was taking a really long time to say goodbye to Lauren Bacall. a really, really long time, and seated behind the wheel, Ingrid Bergman was becoming impatient. when she glanced in the rear view mirror to see what was taking so long, you could tell how impatient she was getting, because of the furrow in her brow. in a flash of inspiration, she grabbed a handy wrapper-filled McDonalds bag that Lauren Bacall had thrust at her earlier, and noisily proceeded to fill it with vomit. there was no hiding what she had done; the stench of vile things in the cabin was overwhelming, as you could tell by the expressions on the faces of the passengers.

Humphrey Bogart cleared his throat. “See you tonight, darling,” he said to Lauren Bacall, got out of the car, and closed the door behind him.

Lauren Bacall glowered with dangerous passion. “Well, when is the happy day?” she growled. “Would you like fries with that?” retorted Ingrid Bergman, and wiped her mouth. both had lost all composure. Ingrid Bergman was the daughter of a shonky businessman who had fallen on hard times, and Lauren Bacall might have been thinking about how she had taken her on as a chauffeur to placate him after some shady dealings she had conducted with him; but it was more likely that Lauren Bacall had forgotten all about that inconvenient nonsense, and was reminiscing over her previous chauffeurs, who had been men of discretion. “I think it’s time we took a look at an alleyway,” she said to Ingrid Bergman in clipped clear tones, “Take a drive round the block.”

she didnt have to ask Ingrid Bergman twice. while one of them kept her eyes on the road and the other looked at the back of her head, neither saw the other grinning with the same grim determination for confrontation, cause at that point a rear view mirror wouldve just got in the way of the camera. there wasnt even really a windscreen there; the whole thing was being filmed in a sound stage. Lauren Bacall clutched at her slim black lamé purse and clicked it open, inserting her elegantly gloved fingers perhaps to remove a lipstick for a bit of a touch-up.

theyd been in a good part of town, but there was always a bad part just around the corner, and theyd driven right into it. Ingrid Bergman pulled up, killed the motor, and yanked the brake on. she spun so that she was kneeling in her seat, extending her arms with the intention to throttle Lauren Bacall, only to find herself staring into the muzzle of a sleek black semiautomatic pistol. Lauren Bacall expertly clicked off the safety. “Get out,” she commanded, “and close the door.” once Ingrid Bergman had obeyed her she flung her legs adroitly over the front seat and slid behind the wheel. she wound down the window and smiled regally at Ingrid Bergman standing on that ugly sidewalk. a sleazy tune emanated out of some seedy nearby dive, or maybe that was just the soundtrack.

Ingrid Bergman appeared to be experiencing some regrets. “But what about my health insurance?” she asked. “Wait for Obamacare,” said Lauren Bacall, and chuckled smoothly. she grabbed the paper sack that was filled with vomit and hurled it out the window at Ingrid Bergman so that it burst all over her. Lauren Bacall was draped in a midnight black gown that suited her fine, while Ingrid Bergman sported a pleated white dress like as if she were trying to be Marilyn Munroe –it had been her “uniform” that had been required by Lauren Bacall, but it was all wrong on her, and it looked even worse with her vomit on it. and as Lauren Bacall swerved recklessly away from the kerb the spinning tyre of her gleaming luxury model T-Bird spat a viscous jet of filthy gutter water up onto Ingrid Bergman, really completing the picture. it was a shame really: one of those birds was a classy dame, the other was just a broad with a bad attitude. if things had been different…

but they werent different, and i lay completely unaware on the couch with the dim television light flickering dispassionately on my face. i had passed out several scenes ago and was snoring softly. id drunk 3 tins of beer, and i was too sick and tired of all the shit to give a fuck about anything.

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