coming to america

 one summer day i packed my bags and rode a bus to a place that was pure fiction – the united states of america, with the fond hope of being a writer in a place where words have no meaning. like liberty, which is a statue there. there were only two people in the bus apart from the driver. a young girl in a wedding dress and a sufi who was quietly bleeding to death. the girl lifted up her dress as i passed by her and i saw with disinterest that she wasn’t wearing anything underneath. the bus driver was an old bluesman i knew from way back. he used to play a mean guitar but too much whiskey and the weed had taken its toll. the young girl said her name was karen, the famous porn star. she popped one breast out and held it out to me. “you wanna suck on it?” she asked. karen had only one thing on her mind. but most of the time she was out of her mind so that helped. the sufi’s name was hakim. after some time he decided to stop bleeding to death and poured us thick turkish coffee from a flask. there was only one paper cup so we took turns drinking the coffee. when the bus reached the crossroads the old bluesman pulled on the breaks and the bus came to a screeching halt. “anybody wants to get off here?” he asked. karen hiked up her dress and stepped off the bus. “there is a nice gentleman who comes here often who loves oral sex.” she explained. the sun was going down and in the twilight i could see young nubile girls cavorting in the fields of gold. i saw a girl with blue eyes in the fading light slit her wrists and wave at me. the blood flowing down her wrists was bright as coke.