Day CCXXIII

Igor and The Lab

     “Okay, okay dude,” she responded as she shoved her tongue down his throat.

     A little later he confided to me that Sonia had done it, she just wanted to liven up the occasion a bit. Meanwhile Morgana had been drinking it like water.

     Iggy, only intimates called him that, was four feet two, a little person, whose real name was Igor Demeon, F.D. He was a third generation American, whose parents came from Transylvania, and a licensed mortician. Besides being short, Iggy suffered from palsy on the left side of his face. Though his looks appeared weird, he was really a cool dude. He found George roaming the streets when he was twelve or thirteen, and adopted him. When George dropped out of high school, because he was bored, and since he had been watching Iggy do his thing, without fear since he was a kid, Iggy taught him his craft. Up to then Iggy had needed a front man, but since George was a good looking dude, Iggy gave him the job. He paid him very well, hoping that he would be inspired, and go back to school. Unfortunately, the money turned him into a player, and he had a long line of women who thought he was rich, looking to tame him. Iggy was disappointed, but since he loved him like a son, he resigned himself to the fact- better that, than queer he lamented.

     The mortician’s table was right in front of the door, when you opened it, the table was the first thing you saw. It was a shiny stainless steel table, with all kinds of tubes hanging from the ceiling leading to it, unto it, or running from it into white buckets on the floor. Behind the table was Iggy’s customized, wheeled, motorized stand, which he controlled remotely from his lab coat pocket; and from the door it looked as if he was floating back and forth over a body.