by Marcus Speh

“Why are the rooms so small,” said Jack when they’d arrived and the maid had shown them to their rooms, “and why don’t we share a room,” he added but these were only fragments of non-communication, Jack wasn’t asking, he was telling because he was very drunk. So drunk in fact that by the time Jack Small and Colette Perpignac reached the small hotel, he’d invited half the people they’d met to their first party, the party that’d mark the official start of filming the awesomest movie the world had ever seen. Colette knew he wasn’t asking and she paid the bell boy, pushed Jack into one of their two rooms, which was dimly lit because the shades were down, flung herself on the bed and began to peel her clothes off. Jack looked at her with a dumb expression on his face and a cold heart in his barrel chest. “What’re you waiting for, Jacques,” she meowed. “I’ve mis-ss-sed you ss-sso much, come here,” she said. Jack burped. He staggered past the bed to the window, fiddled with the handle, couldn’t open it and cursed. “Fuck this,” he said, moving towards Colette and sitting down with his back to her. “Wassup,” she lisped, showing her teeth. She noticed a piece of vegetable matter stuck between them and tried to suck it loose, making noises like a leaky toilet. “Why do you have to be so dif-fi-fuck-ing-cult, Jacques,” she said, extracting something from her mouth. She held it between two fingers and, slithering towards Jack, held it up in front of his eyes: “Look, cherie, un peu de réalité, bébé,” she said. Jack turned to her, his head swaying a little. He didn’t recognize her just then. He didn’t know where he was or why he was here. He looked at the object hanging in front of his face and then he opened his mouth with those very white teeth in them, teeth that Colette always made fun of, and swallowed the thing whole. “Hmm,” he said, “I’m drunk.” They both laughed.

-refers from the word bed in Christopher Allen’s story Husk of Hare

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