I Just Don't Know Anymore

Nic & Lita Tackling Some Kinda Block...

He flicked the match with his thumb and sat there listening to the crackle of his own cigarette. The flame got halfway to his finger before he blew it out. With that, Nic Ridgefield crushed the charred stick under his cowboy boot and started strumming. He hadn’t played acoustic guitar in ages, and it felt good. Felt almost as good as the two soft gray hands rubbing his bare black shoulders.

“What’s got you bluesin’ babe?” Lita whispered, the hippie-punk nuzzling against his neck.

“I just don’t know anymore.” Nic sighed, still strumming.

“Bout what? Bout leaving Hell Patrol, bout joining us over on the Force?”

“Nah, that shit’s easy.” the black wolf chuckled. “Boys and me still play in the band fine and the Commissioner ain’t one to fuck with that Knox cat. I just don’t know, y’know? Like you want to put your finger on it but you just can’t for shit.”

Lita smiled, leaning in as strands of mohawk brushed against her lover’s snout. “Well, you know my city-slickin’ thoughts on that.” She cut herself off as she kissed him. “Once you know, sort it out and move on. Don’t sweat the stuff you can’t pin down.”

Nic nodded and kept on strumming. “I think it might be this.” he pondered. “Maybe it’s a song I forgot to write. People have killed themselves for forgetting a good idea.”

“Alrighty, I’ll go get the tape deck. Don’t want to clean that kinda mess up.”