It all started in a messy pool of cold saliva.
All over. Just a mess.
Then the phone beeped (they don't ring anymore),
and the warm comfort of the black tunnel of unconsciousness
slowly opened into the retinal world of sub-existence
face down in my own spit.
English: "Yeah. Whaddya want?"
Chinese: "Wei? Ni ga ma?"
"OK. OK. I'll be there in an hour..."
And then it began.
Another day.
"The man's got meetings." Mr. 1
"Yeah. The man's busy." Mr. 2
"Yeah. All the time." Mr. 3
The cab ride into town is $8.00,
The coffee costs $4.50,
The quick super hair massage shampoo
at the neighboring pretty girl slick Salon de Chic is $10.00,
and I haven't even eaten yet.
Can a man get used to this?
Should a man get used to this?
The fat guy in the red/brown striped sweater is Lee.
The girl is obviously a recruit. It's 2:30am.
On the 12th floor there are 53 more like her.
#46 is supposed to be the one.
He takes the girl out for a decent meal,
buys her a nice new imitation leather Luis Vitton hand bag
loaded with $350 and the deal is closed.
I'm waiting for Steve the ex-Sumo wrestler who drinks soda water
and carries around a constant supply of eyedrops
and Vicks Inhalers.
The smoke is immeasurable. Barometric.
His booth sits behind the dance floor, surrounded by floor to ceiling mirrors.
I can see Lee sitting on one of the marble benches in back. He's probably
only 26. The girl, 17. Real southern style: Tall hair, strong calves, high cheek bones,
sever eyebrows. She watches the wall of TVs in the corner,
glazed, bored, nervous, I don't know what.
The look is so common, so unreadable.
Stoneface. Cold. Empty.
Steve shifts heavily as he makes his way through the crowd,
greeting regulars, until he spots me,
alone at the cappuccino bar.
"Thanks for the CD. I started mixing it in. People seem to like it."
Sniff. Sniff. The inhaler is a necessity 7 nights/week, 5 years.
"No really. Thanks, Steve. I'm glad someone's listening to my stuff"
"You shoulda been here last night. There was this one girl who says she knows you.
Asking about you." He presses around both sides of his nose,
sniffs again. "Yeah, and rich, too. Her name is, get this, Candice."
"Ooh, I like it."
"Anyways she's in here every Friday at 3:00. See what you can do...
Song's running out gotta go."
Yeah Friday, gotta go.
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