Golden Ticket

Global Sensation Hairdo / 2015 / Russell C. Smith

It was an uncertain Tuesday. You know the feeling. Not quite Wednesday but leaning in that direction. Up one alleyway, a quick turn, and where do you find yourself? At the Golden Ticket Booth. Just like you heard about. It only appears once in a Blue Moon. Most consider it to be a myth, a tall tale, make-believe. Those who’ve never seen it with wide open peepers doubt its existence. Ms. Golden Ticket, right there in the flesh. She leans over the counter, dark hair curled over one eye. Asking each visitor, “How much would you pay for a Golden Ticket?” Answers range from enough bucks for a pack of smokes to priceless. The scene changes, like how minds get changed. In an instant. You’re sitting beside Ms. Golden Ticket in a speakeasy called Open-All-Night. Clearly, you’ve both been in your cups for quite some time. It’s how time gets in such joints – either frozen or frenzied. Calmly musing and feeling the music within. An expansive conversation within a night attached to infinity. Last thing you recall asking her was, “Anybody ever tell you, you look like Tuesday Weld?” You wake up on the backside of a cloud, feeling none the worse for wear. She’s nearby, frying up scrambled eggs, just the way you like them. Ms. Golden Ticket is over in the kitchen, wearing a smile on her kisser and a black silk kimono. You jump up and go over to plant a kiss, see what grows.