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'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the city too many creatures were stirring, including rats as big as houses. The stockings on the hookers hung on thin legs without care, and nobody believed in St. Nicholas, so they didn't care if he was here or there. Sure, kids were nestled, all snug in their beds, with visions of whatever the hell sugar plums are, dancing in their heads. Probably smoked a joint or two to get those vibes, but anyway... Hutch was in his cowboy hat and I was in my cabbie's cap, and we'd just settled our brains in for a long winter's surveillance when from the alley there arose such a clatter that I sat up on the front seat of the Torino like a flash. I threw open the window and tossed out my trash. The moon on the breast of the new-fallen trash gave the lustre of mid-day to objects all around us. I couldn't figure out what all the racket was when what to my wondering eyes should appear, but some weird freaking miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer that looked a heck of a lot like big brown dogs with antlers stuck on their heads. In fact the sleigh looked decidedly like a Corvair convertible, now that I think about it. Behind the wheel was a little old driver, so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it must be St Nick. Well, actually, it looked more like Huggy Bear, but hey, it was dark and it was Christmas. More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, and he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name! "Now Dasher! Now, Dancer! Now, Prancer and Vixen! On, Comet! On, Cupid! On, Donner and Blitzen! (Actually, he yelled at the dogs and as they pulled the Corvair down the alley, a bunch a' hookers jumped out of the shadows and climbed aboard. They still had on their name tags from the Christmas party they'd worked.) "To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall! Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!" Really, though, there wasn't much dashing. It takes a lot of work for dogs to pull a dead-as-a-door-nail car, even if the dogs are pretty big bruisers. As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, when they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky. Those hookers could sure mount a john, but since it's Christmas, for tonight, they each carried a gaily wrapped present. I like presents, ya know. So up to the house-top the coursers they flew, with the sleigh full of toys, and St Nicholas too. Even though it was just hookers and Huggy, they looked pretty cool. And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof the prancing and pawing of each little hoof. Since the engine was dead, I didn't really hear much other than those girls giggling and the dogs' toenails clicking on the pavement. As I drew in my head and was turning around, down the block Huggy came with a bound. He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot, bright red fur with green and purple trim, and black boots with these big honkin' gold buckles. And his clothes were really far out, covered with more sequins than Sugar doing her best Marilyn impression. Huggy had a bundle of toys flung on his back, and he grinned when he dropped the whole kit and kaboodle on the hood of the Torino. He looked like a fence just opening his pack. His eyes - how they twinkled! His smile - how merry! His cheeks were like brown sugar, and his nose like, well like Huggy's nose. His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, and the beard of his chin was as white as the snow. It was fake, sure, but it looked far out, man. The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, and the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath. That kind of surprised me because I didn't know Huggy smoked a pipe. And from the smell of the tobacco, I can tell you it was Mary Jane, not Prince Albert. But hey, it's Christmas, so Hutch 'n me let it slide. He had a broad face and a skinny little belly, and from his grin, his entire body shook from head to toe. Man, Huggy was toked to the gills. He was skinny and tall, a vision in red and green spandex, a right jolly black elf, and I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself! I almost choked on my candy cane. Hutch snorted Pepsi through his nose. Huggy gave us a wink of his eye and a twist of his head. We were both worried he'd hurt himself, but as soon as I looked at the man, I knew I had nothing to dread. That Corvair wasn't going any faster than two miles an hour and at this time of night, he wouldn't run over too many drunks. He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work. All the hookers lined up and he filled their handbags, then turned with a jerk. Poor Huggy. He's all stiff arms and wobbly legs when he's high. And laying his finger aside of his nose, and giving a nod, he actually thought he'd do something besides stand there, looking really funny. After a few seconds when nothing happened, he shrugged and sprang to his Corvair. To his team he gave a whistle, and away they all flew like the down of a thistle. You wish. The dogs pulled that Corvair down the block and two homeless guys threw rotten vegetables at them. That's when I heard him exclaim, 'ere he drove out of sight, "Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!" |