Elvis - Black Sheep

The garage was cold.

Frank took the spray paint out of his jacket. He held his loafers in front of him.

This was worth the four bucks, he told himself.

The silver paint exploded in the air, moving all around him. He watched the tiny particles of paint mist, enveloping the cold. He smelt the sour smell. He danced with the paint to avoid getting it all over his uniform. He saw the silver sparkle, and he heard it whisper to him. As it grew, he felt like a King wearing jewels, with a crown, with a throne. He shrunk down, closer to the ground, the paint spoke to him and told him that life was for the getting, while the getting was good. It told him that one day, he'd own this town. He'd have ballplayers as friends.

It didn't matter that he was lonely now.

He took a shot of the whiskey in his other jacket pocket.

He hung the shoes to dry.

The next day at school, he was the only boy with shoes like the King.

Three weeks later, he lost his virginity to a girl at a party that was offering herself to anyone who was interested. There were rumours that she'd been with twenty men, but Frank didn't see how that was possible. The party only lasted two hours.

"Thanks," he said, still inside her, lying in bed.

"I did it because you have shoes like Elvis."

Walking the neighbourhood, how he did every night, unable to sleep and as dawn broke, he thought that was as good a reason as any. As the sun rose, he danced in the street like Elvis, moving his body parts every which way, sure that now, he was a man. That now, he was different.

He was fifteen.