FICTION

STATION WOMB

Peggie- Missouri

From the very first day I'd landed in Lewisburg I had waited and schemed for a chance to get back at the man-haters that ran station WOMB. No bunch of freak females were going to get away with accus- ing me of being a skirt swishing fairy.

I had never even considered dressing up in female clothes, or any of it, until the day I walked into WOMB. "How do you look in a dress, Don- nie Doll," the snooty bitch had squealed. And then they all three laughed at me. And for a whole miserable month it had been an endless joke around Lewisburg. A joke that was a daily nightmare.

But tonight I was going in there and wreck their rotten little powder- puff set-up. I sat there in the cool darkness of the evening watching the gleaming WOMB building across the street, hypnotized by the red lights threading up the tall tower into the darkening sky.

As I lit what must have been my tenth or even fifteenth cigarette, since parking the car, I considered that it wouldn't be a matter of phys- ically wrecking the place. No. Not smashing everything to pieces, al- though I had often thought of doing just that.

I couldn't risk a jail rap, not tonight, not when I finally had enough money saved up to leave this rotten town. I would just sit there in my car and wait until the night girl came on. Then I could sneak into the sta- tion and have the supreme satisfaction of ruining the reputation of WOMB. I would be the first male disk jockey their listeners and sponsors had ever heard. And I could tell this whole stinking town the real story behind this freak set-up.

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