Hey good lookin’, what you got cookin,’ how about cookin’ somethin’ up for me
While I’m walking on the Boardwalk, I hear somebody singing that and it still makes smile so many years later. Zachary would sing it to me and it would send chills up my spine. Boys and men had been looking at me forever, but nobody had ever seemed to pierce my soul before. It humbled me, and excited me, and made me forget that other people existed.
He would always sing it during one of his very infrequent public appearances; usually a pity performance somebody arranged for me. For some reason I knew many club owners, managers, bartenders and/or bouncers. Thought that every sorta pretty girl did. While I took my status for granted, I never understood it, and spent endless megayears analyzing my appeal. That couldn’t have been a very attractive trait. I analyzed everything to death and beyond, and even then knew I was wasting my time.
When I was in a bad mood or had a cold, Zachary thought that I could be ugly in the way only beautiful women could be. That wasn’t very helpful.
Most people I knew turned to EST or Life Spring or some other new age miracle method in a quest to understand their inner selves. I turned to my inner self, pot and sex, especially once I met Zachary. In sex we were equal or more; in sex Zachary didn’t endlessly repeat sentences, in sex I didn’t lecture and/or analyze.
hey good looking All it took was that one phrase, and I was his.