Neon Girl Paramour: "When She Was Bad..."(1.0)

I

He was a very bloody man. Stout really. He sat at the bar on the end of broken dreams. He had a very grotesque moustache, on his hand a red rash, inscribed with the harvest of twenty-seven. On his eyelash a bubble, a fiery rain drop of accomplished misery. A bubble that drooped to the dirty porcelain floor. Drinking his drink he ensnared a wink from the neon girl.

Temptress in blue and green, standing on a dancing floor and quite lean. She lay on a pillow of seams. The seam which tore apart and blew in the wind, and a flying rind, which carried the smell of tangerines. A raven toying with humans. The stout man sighed and looked back at his drink.

"Mr. Higs isn't it?" the bartender asks.

"Yes it's Tork Higs; Tork Jonathan Higs" a reply.

Neon girl flies and moans, at her look the drones. Oh no! Another one gets blocked from freedom. More floating comes and this time the temptress smirks. A sweep of air and she sits next to Higs.
"Hello" a voice grating on the chalkboard. A complementary voice for a complementary woman.

Silence in its own nature awkward. A warm fire on a cold winter night. She moves her head to better regard Higs.

"I SAID hello" her tone enveloping the irritating quality.

"Learn to say goodbye" Higs retorts. Another smirk in the water. A dilute water concentration with more muddy mud than mud can handle. Higs, the tortured, can see clearly. Higs who is picked on and stuffed into dusty old closets, and eaten by the trashy vixens inhabiting his life.

She deposits an incredulous look and leaves. This time her smell is all weird, her hair frazzled, and her drones dispersed. The mass of the trickster has been delayed, and the bass of the music has been led astray. The new hot thing fades away. And within the circle a new stone lays. Not for Mr. Higs. Mr. Higs lays in the bar and stays with his bay of pigs. He sits and drinks. Collects many winks. And in his limbo he thinks.