An Evening With The Queen

Today you walked by that local gym where the hardcore fitness people go to work out. It's partially outdoors, so you get to see everybody pump their iron. Most of those you see there are impressively muscular, men and women. You watched two women snatch and lift above their head a bench bar with very large metal discs on the ends; they looked to have about 150lbs total on each bar. These women were primarily muscle, still feminine but warrioresque. After they drop the bars to the ground, they walk about with absolute control over their limbs. The feminist in you finds this display of female physical strength and athleticism to be attractive, but not to such a degree that you'd actively seek someone like that out. Actually you've been meaning to go there and see if you can meet one of the female trainers as an interview subject to use as reference material for a character in Enrod The Clockman. You don't do that today; but you will eventually.

You don't go to the cafe today. You save a few dollars and use your drawing table at home, and besides, Queen Puscifer has come to visit. She whispers the most inspiring things into your ears while Jack and Tyler dance in the background and you go to work on that page you didn't finish on Monday. She keeps you zoned, for the most part. She only leaves when you ask, and she's always happy to return.

A compatriot of yours calls you up about commissioning something for the project he told you about the last time you saw him. You work it out, it's simple enough so you should be able to work it in with the other things you have on your plate. And the Queen returns with her voluptuous curves; what's your favorite caliber baby?

What do you know? During the day you consider various philosophical concepts you'd like to bring to yourself in these little documents you make before bed, but then you get here and you have no inclination to talk about it. What do you know? There's too many beautiful things bouncing through your ears and they taste like butter with a touch of honey and spice. What do you know? You miss the grind.

Just witness the thickness, and on we ride.

Sure, you can get a "hell yeah".