Over at Trans, there is still trash strewn all around the recycle bins. It has been months of heaped up trash, plastic bags over spill and make a mound of debris. I think it makes Trans feel at home. Iraq or somewhere like that, Trans lived in trash. Drag Queen knows trash. She's been around trash all her life and knows its subtle ways, knows how to treat trash. Drag Queen's trash is always orderly, never spills over and the recycle containers are placed just so. Trash, according to Drag Queen, needs care and now that the eunuch has plenty of coins from her psychic readings, she has nothing left to fret about but the trash at the Western Bunker ran by Trans.
They make nice. They smile at each other at the clap-clap songs the Jihad Party Boys do. While they wear their skull caps, swing the tassels tied around them and jump up and down in their ritual killing songs, the two stare at each other from across the courtyard where they sit to view the Jihad Party Boys in action.
They sit and think of poison, electric shock, curses, auto accidents, accidents in general and, of course, ripping the beating heart out of the other. Drag Queen has her bodacious butt. Trans has her elective implants and a vagina made from parts of her ass-hole and what they could from her dick.
That's what bothers Drag Queen, not just the trash but that Trans had her dick cut off and made into a cunt. She couldn't just get butt fucked, no, she actually dug another hole in her body for a dick to fit into. That's why, Drag Queen thinks, that Trans doesn't mind the trash that spills over. It's just more of the same, more of Trans' parts spilling over a hole.
They smile, they kiss-kiss and say how glorious the other looks but each are careful not to be pricked by any jewelry, or a hair or sequin being removed. They watch for any sign the other is failing in health and make slights, just ever so cutting to each other.
"Darling, you're fabulous. Really, just fabulous and in spite of the stench that reeks from your side of the alley, I can still smell that perfume you buy at what store? Oh, ninety-nine, I forget, silly, must be the vapors. Do you have an oygyen tent?"
"Of course dear, right this way. You know, I knew you were coming and thought, that ass she lugs must need a bit of air, seeing how that butt crack of yours never has seen the light of day."
On and on they go with their tit for tat. The Jihad Party Boys clap, they sing killing songs, they wear their tossles and bangles, the girls glare and all is good in the land of the Jihad Party Boys.
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