Delia walked dazedly down the steps of the sleazy tenement where the beats were having their jam. She was a slick chick, with long black unkempt hair, tight jeans, an enormous white shirt, and bare feet. Her face was white, eyes black and suspiciously bright. The cats thought her the mostest.
She went in. There were soft lights, low blues, a bit of detached sex, poetry reading and a reefer being passed around like a pipe of peace. “Hi chick”, yelled a voice in the corner, “Enter into Cloudsville and come and dig my crazy sax”. “Don’t be a drag or I’ll cut out on your pad”, she retorted and mooched over to a bearded fellow in dark glasses. “Got any bread to get some pot, or are you holding?” “Lay off it Dee for a night or you’ll get us busted”. I dig this Parker cat, he’s real cool. “Come on let’s get hip”, he drawled. “Nothing doing buddy, get swinging some other place. I’m off to another gig”, she intoned huskily and strolled over to the dealer.
Léonie Scott-Matthews
Pentameters Theatre
Art Work GodFrey Old