Music Hour at the Opium Den: “Dark Sedan” by Karl Blau
Every day at an undisclosed hour, Ms. Angora Holly Polo retires to the opium den in the lowest bellows of the manor and lets her servants blow opium smoke into her face before writing her music reviews. In this edition: “Dark Sedan” by Karl Blau.
I am riding around in a black sedan with tacky maroon interior; I’m with my boyfriend Father Guido who has gold teeth and faded big sunglasses and he dances like those Roxbury guys. Whenever the trumpets come in, I look back and the black Sedan has morphed into a long limo, and the trumpet players are actually in the backseat, playing their trumpet parts in choreographed movements left and right. With no concern for looking back, I turn back to the road. The future. We go to a club where some ho in a sequined halter is hanging all over my man. I get back from getting a drink and she says, in a drawl, “Is this your man?”
“What?” I say, putting three exclamation points-worth of emphasis on the ‘t’.
“I was just asking if it was your man and all. It’s nothing, be cool. Please, I don’t want any trouble!” She puts her press on nails up in protest before I lodge my gold stiletto in her nasal cavity. She drops to the ground and I do a line of coke that was just recently pushed towards me on the bar. I shake it off.