Born in New Orleans and cultivated in New York, Nikki DaVinci is a writer, poet, designer, painter and photographer. Be careful around this renaissance woman because her words have been known to make one’s body react uncontrollably.
Just finishing up her first tour with the Punany Poets and with her first book available on Amazon, remember the name as you might be meeting one of next lesbian laureates.
Give her time and she will penetrate your mind with her Bic (if you are into that kind of thing).
As I struggled to get my bag out of the overhead compartment, Cat slinked down the aisle and off the plane without even a goodbye. I hustled to catch her and saw a slight trace of her tell tale scarf head into the ladies room. I followed her while dodging perplexed looks. I was on a mission and that mission was her.
“Catrina…” I said in a raised voice. “Catrina it’s Kris”. At the end of the row of stalls I could see the handicap stall open. With a hurried flick of the wrist I found myself, Cat and our carryons together again in the crowded stall.
How did I get here? I still feel flush as I finally open my eyes. It takes a minute for them to focus as the harsh fluorescent bulbs bear down on my face.
Did this really just happen? It couldn’t have just happened. They must have laced my airplane size vodka with some form of hallucinogenic because things like this just don’t happen to me. As I gently lick my lips and take a deep breath I realize that the taste on my lips definitely was not chapstick, and the aroma I smelled was a seductive mix of Chanel No 5 and a forbidden intoxicant that you can not buy in a bottle. I quickly lock the bathroom stall door so that my rude awakening would not be coupled by an even ruder interruption.