He sat in the corner with that look on his face, that look that said, I am about to speak.
"Let's get up and go."
I felt so sick, my joints ached, my mouth felt like it had been dry since the moment I was born. I got up anyway. There was no point resisting.
"We've gotta hustle." He said preemptively thwarting the gleam of protest he already suspected.
"But I'm so tired, baby." I said, hoping in vain that he would go for me.
We got off the cold floor without another word. I threw up on the way...
Dane took another well-aimed pump at the car. The iron pipe splattered headlight glass all over the curb.
"Good fuck!" I sputtered, "What's wrong with your freako eyes?"
"I'm sick. Some sort of crow disease. Can't be helped. Hand me that roll of tape." He pumped his fist while taping diapers to the antenna with his free hand, reeling to some invisible unholy orchestra. Probably electro. Probably some sort of depeche mode shit zonking around in his gourd. His eyes bugged yellow and I knew he had finally gotten news that yes, it was cancer, and yes, it was hereditary....
Gene started thinking up missions. Find a tapedeck, sparklers, foam hats, and a Tears for Fears hat. Re-enact a concert in the parking lot of some three dollar hotel. Load the back of Dave's truck up with lawn furniture and mailboxes - whatever isn't tied down. Cut down all the trees on one block on the East side under the guise of city workers.
Gene fumbled with the cats. He hat taped their four tails together and begun the arduous process of spraypainting them gold when some three Spanish children skidded to a halt in front of Gene's yard. "Making...
Shit.
Her hat just blew off in the wind. Well, it wasn't so much wind as the fact that she stuck her head out the car window to get a better look at the flashing lights.
The cops probably wouldn't be too happy if they stopped to retrieve it. Another one lost.
It was her Mariner's baseball hat, the one that shielded her from the torrential rain in Singapore; the one that bleached to a dull slate gray from the sun in New Mexico; the one that she wore whenever the Mariners ended up losing. It wasn't so much a...
She sat staring at the skin of her hands. Her eyes traced the many lines, imagining the skin to be the brown, scorched earth of deserts, thirsty for life.
The wrinkled skin gathered above her enlarged knuckles, reminding her of dried fruit.
She continued examining her hands, wondering how the finiteness of life had come to suddenly feel so tangible.
Her veins somehow looked foreign. Her age had caused her veins to become like strange, throbbing, river-like threads of yarn, sewn to her flesh, invading her hands.
She rubbed the underside of her index finger against the rough surface of...
He pounded his head on the wall to the rhythm of the heavy bass. Boom Boom Boom Boom Boom.
He'd attempted diplomacy already. Repeated knocks on the door had gone unanswered. No wonder: they probably assumed it was the music.
He'd attempted passive-aggressively turning his own music up to the max. Some good that does on a MacBook.
Nor did calling the neighbors help. The RA he'd summoned had joined the party.
3am on a Tuesday morning, in finals week. Deridda wasn't getting any easier. What would Deridda do? Hey thought. WWDD. Which was about the sound his forehead made...
"And, did he ever touch you inappropriately?"
Sarah paused her story for a moment, growing red in the face. "What?"
"Did he ever touch you, it's okay, you're not alone. This office is a safe place."
"Why would you even ask?" Sarah nearly yelled in her surprise.
"Look, I get a lot of patients coming through here and I just want them to know that they can talk to me freely. It would be statistically plausible that he touched you at one point."
"It would?"
"Yes, look, I have your breast interests in mind."
"Well... maybe, I dunno."
"He probably...
"Hello, is this, uh, Mary?"
"Maybe."
"Oh, uh, well I saw your ad and I just thought maybe I had what you're looking for."
"What makes you say that?"
"Well, it just that, uh, I've been working out and, uh, I think I have an okay face and, uh. I can be real mean in bed and stuff."
"What's your name, stranger?"
"My name is, uh, John, and, uh, I'm like 6'3'' and muscular and stuff."
"Well, 'John,' if I was to meet you somewhere, would you be interested in a little... action?"
"Uh, yeah! I mean, that's what I...
"I'm not stalking you, I swear," she said to him as he stared across the produce section in the grocer.
"Oh? The coffee shop by your office I could understand. The subway too. Maybe we live on the same line. The movie theatre might have been a coincidence. And the cologne section at Macy's could be justified. I'm a little concerned that you'd appear in the same Casino, the same bar and the same strip club, but to each their own. So that you'd even say you're not stalking me, here, in a grocery store, the most obvious place for...
The Americans landed as planned. Somewhat off course, one of them, Jon from the Bronx recognized the farmhouse. "It's Helena's" he said breathing out, relieved. "anyone got a smoke?" he said smiling and looking around quickly at his buddies.
"Are you shitting? this woman's a spy and God knows who's in there with her. Ten to one there's Germans", said the Captain snapping the Camel right out of Jon's mouth. He grinned and the Captain motioned for four of his men to advance.
In the window, Helena seemed angelic. The man at her feet was indeed very blond, the men...