The Modern, Hotter James Dean
“Steve struts sexily down the street…” Steve sang to the beat of Queen’s “Another One Bites the Dust” blaring on his earphones. He liked the song because it mentioned him and often changed the lyric to whatever mood fit him.
He swaggered out of the barbershop with his sleek new haircut—a messy quiff—his fitted black Calvin Klein T-shirt that made his muscles bulge, and his low-cut jeans with whiskering on the front. Steve felt like a modern, hotter James Dean.
“Are you ready for this!” He sang (off-key) at an old woman who blew a raspberry and yelled “fool!” as she hurried away.
Steve was undeterred, nothing could stop him, and he shuffled his feet in time to the music while bobbing his head from side to side.
He almost stopped cold when he saw a goddess heading his way. Oh mama, the girl was hot, with legs that went on for days, tight miniskirt, swaying hips and a bod so fine… He licked his lips and smirked. Other men glanced at her and through the music he heard their wolf-whistles. The goddess walked on, eyes fixed straight ahead and unflinching, aloof to the men’s attentions. Steve grinned, those other guys had nothing on him.
He bopped and approached the goddess while in his ears Brian May did his guitar thing. The goddess was gliding straight for him, and as Steve prepared to belt out the song and get her attention, someone pulled the ground out from under him. He hovered in the air for an instant, then fell into blackness; sharp pain scraped his forearms and knees. One earphone fell out and hung pathetically by its cord.
Steve gazed up at the round hole of light above him. A shadow passed, and he glimpsed long bare legs in red shoes; the click, click, click of high heels resounded on the cavernous walls of the manhole as they walked away.
“Hey, buddy, you okay?” A construction worker in a hard hat peeked down at him, “don’ worry, we’ll get ya out!”
Steve smelled something nasty and looked down at his feet. He was shin-high in sewage muck and his lips quivered when he realized he’d ruined his brand new Nikes.
“Another one bites the dust!” Freddie Mercury sang out of his dangling earphone, the voice tinny, yet a powerful punch to Steve’s pride.