Pop Goes the Weasel

“Love makes the world go round like a great big music box. I like the song you’re playing darlin but that don’t mean it’s going to go platinum.” he looked off, abstract in expression with a touch of sad in his eyes. He is dressed as a Gothic Mad Hatter, white wash on his skin and spears of black over his face like knife blades.


Just like the perfect little soldier she jumps in line as all the rest. “I can change the tune, baby.” her painted lips smirk at him. “I do requests.”


Perfect little please all, much like one he had known a long time ago. Where does that time go, baby? He thinks to himself. Well right in my pocket, he answers the voices in his mind. With interest he looks her over, that high dollar wear, lipstick perfectly pressed, and that hair had to be an expensive dye job because she looks solid gold, but her scent is auburn. Slim, athletic, she probably plays tennis at the country club on the weekends. Legs like hers have to stay busy or get busy...


Witty though, he admits. “No, no, that won’t do.” he shrugs and starts to turn away. “Music boxes are all over the world each playing their own little songs but I get the feeling you’re more Beethoven and I am Pop Goes The Weasel. No hard feelings, just two different worlds that were never meant to meet.”


With a sad pout she looks down, her eyes flicking as she tries to think of anything to say. “I can play Pop Goes The Weasel.” she insists.


“No. Beethoven is *never* Pop Goes The Weasel.” he gives a shake to his head. “It would take a catastrophic nightmare for a music box that plays Symphony No. 9 to be screwed up enough for playing Pop Goes The Weasel.”


Regardless she remains fixed with her petulant face trying find an answer. Some of them needed a little push, some of them needed a headlong free fall. Either way he is always happy to oblige. Compassionately, he gives her shoulder a squeeze. “You’d have to do a lot of hellish shit to be anything like me. I may have been one of those music boxes that plays some other song but now all I play is Pop Goes The Weasel and I tell you what I love that tune. I can listen to that song fifty different ways all day everyday, it’s my jam. You know what I’m saying?”


“Yeah.” she sighs loudly. “I know.”


With a kick for a stone on those high heel spikes under her feet she looks ready to give up and leave. Couldn't have that so he does as he always did. Bad things gotta be fed, that's just the way of the world. Good things to eat out here need to go inside.


“Love will make you do crazy things,” he replies. “maybe it’s better we don’t play together.”


Her head shot up and she looks a little wild in her eyes. “Love will make me do crazy...” her voice drifts off and she eyes the battered metal door to the building. “Love will make me do crazy.” a big smile lights up her face. “I can play Pop Goes The Weasel.” she walks toward the entrance. “Just you wait. I’ll be playing it louder than anyone else...”


Pulling the bar on the large door and from within escapes the sounds of howls and banging. Turning to give him a wink she disappears into the black darkness and he crosses the concrete to peer inside what he knows must be a circus of hellishness. He softly shuts the door trapping her within and waits for the next victim.