Selling memories

Greetings,

In Spain, like anywhere else on the spinning rock, when strangers crossed paths he found them wanting.

“Do you want to buy a key chain?” he said to a lost blond femme fatale Standing Down At The Crossroads along Highway 61. “Do you need this? I sell memories.”

“Do you have any short term memories?”
“Yes. We have memories in all sizes and colors.”
“I need a memory of...”
“Can you be more specific?"
“I’m sorry, I’m having trouble remembering.”
“What do you want to remember?”
“I don’t want. I need.”

He opened with the Queen’s Gambit. Pawn to king four, P-K4. The great game of kings was about material, position and ruthless determination. Crush your opponent’s ego. Control the middle of the board. Castle within your first ten moves.

She answered with P-QB4.

It was touch and go with her. Use it or lose it. Paying attention to the details. Small microscopic details.
Allah is in and on the details.
God is in and on the details.
The Devil is in and on the details.
The large print giveth and the small print taketh away.

“I have the desire to embrace danger,” he said. “Come with me, here, closer to the edge of our humanity.”

Distracted by his intentions she picked up a glossy brochure blowing down the street.

“Hustler 101 for freshmen is accepting applications. Sign up at registration.”

“Let me see,” she said moving close enough for him to get a good smell of her taste for unprotected lust.

Peace.