Man With The Woman Head

Are you with me on this, people?
The man with the woman head
Polynesian wallpaper made the face stand out
A mixture of Oriental and early vaudeville jazz poofter
Forming a hard, beetle-like, triangular chin much like a praying mantis
Smoky razor-cut, low on the ear neck profile
The face the color of a nicotine-stained hand
Dark circles collected under the wrinkled, folded eyes
Map-like from too much turquoise eyepaint
He showed his old tongue through ill-fitting wooden teeth
Stained from too much opium, chipped from the years
The feet, brown wrinkles above straw loafers
A piece of coconut in a pink seashell caught the tongue and knotted into thin
white strings
Charcoal grey Eisenhower jacket zipped into a loaded green ascot
A coil of ashes collected on the white-on-yellow daks
Four slender bones with rings and nails endured the weight of a hard fast black
rubber cigarette holder
I could just make out Ace as he carried the tray and mouthed
«You cheap son of a bitch» as a straw fell out of a Coke, cartwheeled into the
gutter
So this was a drive-in restaurant in Hollywood
So this was a drive-in restaurant in Hollywood
So this was a drive-in restaurant in Hollywood