Tao of Pauly

Fucking Sally in the Alley

By Pauly
Hollyweird, CA

I heard two people fucking.

It was 3:10pm on Thursday afternoon. I held a red Sharpie in my right hand and scribbled down edits on Project Z. My brand new printer was finally delivered by a guy who looked like Bo Jackson. I actually did a double take as I scribbled down my signature. Bo knows UPS.

For the first time since I arrived in Los Angeles after the Bahamas assignment, I had the chance to print up the entire project to date... all 37K plus words. For some reason, I edit better with words on paper instead of words on the screen. I discover more errors and mistakes that way. My eyes work differently. So does my brain. I really don't connect with the words until I see it on paper.

I worked at the dining room table with the window open that faced the alley. It was warm. I sat in my shorts and it was one of the rare moments this week when I actually had some sort of pants on instead of walking around in my boxers. There was a light sprinkle of rain and a distant pitter patter could be heard in the background. That was the only external sound. I plodded through the printed pages and mercilessly edited my own words with large red X's through paragraphs and lots of arrows and juggling around sentences. Ah, and then there was the slew of misspelled words, that spellcheck missed, which I circled.

That's when I heard the first groan. Then another. I put down the Sharpie and lowered the volume of the music. Ironically, the song that played was a cover version of Sneaking Sally Through the Alley by Phish.

Then I heard a yelp. Followed by a scream. Yeah, someone was fucking alright.

Laying pipe. Shagging. Banging. Knocking boots. Making sweet tender love. Exchanging bodily fluids. Riding the hoochie mamma.

The alley is always full of sounds. In the early morning, you can hear the clattering of cans and bottles from the homeless can farries rummaging through the dumpsters. There's an angry Asian lady who lives across the way and she's constantly at odds with her husband. She's always yelling at her husband in her native tongue. In he morning. In the afternoon. In the evening. Some of those screaming matches are just vicious as her screeching voice reverberates through the alley. I'm waiting for the husband to snap and chop the bitch up into thirty-six different pieces. Then one sunny morning, one of the can farries will find her severed foot in my dumpster and freak the fuck out.

The alley is always full of sounds. There's a Israeli guy who lives in the building next door and he's always speaking on his cell phone in the backyard. Who knows what he's saying, but it's loud almost on the brink of annoying as he screams in Hebrew. Sometimes, there's the merriment of kids playing. A couple of them play basketball at a portable hoop that didn't have a net. Lots of cheering and dribbling.

And every now and then, Ashley sings.

There's an actress/waitress who lives next door. She was fresh off the boat via Montana or North Dakota or one of those flyover states that's covered in ten inches of snow during the winter months. Ashley often kept her voice sharp and practiced her singing. Sometimes she'd sing along to whatever was blasting on her speakers. Other times it was acapella. It was inspiring to hear her melodious voice echo through the alley.

Sure Los Angeles is a plastic shit hole most all of the time, but this town indeed attracts hordes of talented people from all over the world who are chasing their dreams. There are thousands of young girls just like Ashley throughout the city and down in the Valley who are making lattes at Starbucks or waiting tables while they patiently await for their big break. And in between the lunch and dinner shift, Ashley often hones her craft as she sings and sings.

Ah, the last time that I heard two people fucking was... Ashley. And boy, she was a screamer. That was back in the day when her pothead boyfriend lived with her. He was your typical stoner with lots of jam band stickers on his car. moe was his favorite band and he also dug Widespread Panic. I actually went to see Lotus and Particle at the Knitting Factory with Ashley and her pothead boyfriend.

When I first started dating Nicky, they frequently stopped by the apartment to smoke up with Showcase. Alas, Ashley and her stoner boyfriend had broken up a year or so ago. I think that her career wasn't going anywhere and it was time for her to make the desperate decision to start chugging cock to get ahead. She dumped her boyfriend before she could hurt his feelings in pursuit of a career in Tinsel Town via the proverbial casting couch.

I had not seen him since. She used to come by and hang out but I haven't seen her in a long time. Of course, I hear her singing all the time but haven't physically seen her in a while.

And no, Ashley wasn't getting laid at 3:10pm on Thursday. For one, I could recognize her in heat anytime. She had a deeper and distinct moan. The fucking sounds that disturbed my editing process originated from the guest house right across the alley. The sounds trickled in through the open window. Unfortunately, I could not see anyone in the act. I was bummed out because I like to watch. I just heard the moans and goans and a few slaps. It was over fairly quickly.

I went back to editing and listening to Sneaking Sally.