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“So how come I can’t see what everyone else sees?” Travis asked, hoping Dew would let him see the human façade that everyone else saw instead of the mess he had to look at.

“Aw, what’sa matta, baby. You don’t find me pretty anymore?” Then Dew let out an anguished sob and started huffing as if caught up in a deep crying fit. “You used…to think I-I-I…was sexy.”

Travis sat there, jaw hanging open.

“Remember when you used to call me your little pretty pony and ride me all night long? Huh, do you?” cried Dew.
The people in the restaurant who toughed it out during the feeding frenzy stared at the two of them. Everyone likes a free display of drama.

“You were the one who wanted kids, not me. You’re the one who said you’d pull out. You bastard!” Dew shouted, standing and slamming the table with his palm. “You’re the one that did this to me. You ruined me and now you don’t want to fuck me anymore. Well, fuck you, Mr. Man.”

Travis shot uneasy looks at those around him. Even people on the street were looking in the window.
Dew’s theatrics were in full-gear. Tears running down his face, wheezing, trying to catch his breath between sobs. “Well, you just go off to your fucking whore. We’re through and I’m taking you for everything, you cheating bastard.” Dew stood there panting for a second or two, then stormed out, leaving Travis with all eyes focused on him.

Travis slowly stood up and tried to keep his composure while getting the hell out there as fast as he could. He smoothed his jacket, as was his habit, slid the chair through the grease-covered floor into place under the table, gave a slight nod to everyone watching, turned and casually walked out the door.

He caught up with Dew about a block away. “So I take it everyone sees you as a woman?”

“I thought it would be fun,” Dew said somewhat distracted, as if looking for something.

“Nice.”
Dew shrugged. “Strippers.”

“What?”

“Strippers, whores, women. Need some titty in my face. Need to put my log in the fire.”

Travis just stared at Dew, stunned by his eloquence. “Wow,” was all he could say for a minute.

“What? When was the last time you went all raw dog on a bitch?”

Travis stood silent.

“Exactly,” Dew said slapping Travis on the back. “We need pussy.”

Travis started to protest, then stopped, thought a minute. He could stand to get laid. It had been a long time. When he did have sex it was usually part of some rite or ritual and always ended in him covered in blood and shit. Would be nice to just find a hot whore and just have her fuck his brains out.

“Okay, we need pussy. Only problem is, there are no strip clubs or hookers around here that I know of. Kind of a conservative town.”

Dew started to say something, stopped before any words came out, sniffed the air. “Vegas.”

“What?”

“Vegas. We need to go to Vegas.”

“It’s like 2000 miles away. How the hell are we going to get to there?”

Dew smiled—maybe, who knew with that face—and pulled Travis close. “Hang on, baby. Daddy’s just bought us a ticket on the Cooter Caboose.”

Dew raised his arm high in the air and started swirling it around. Travis could feel a shower of energy fall down around them. He had a sudden feeling of complete claustrophobia. The air was forced from his lungs as the energy wrapped itself around him, squeezing tighter and tighter.

He saw it coming like a wall barreling toward his face—darkness—pure, pitch black, scary-as-hell darkness. Then it hit him full-on and Travis fell hard and fast into its cold embrace.

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