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Goldilocks and the three Bears

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Her parents didn’t believe in schooling, proper schooling, because they knew that all those teachers and priests were rapist sodomites and when they read and reread those passages in Ezekiel they got so angry and started yelling at their eight year old child about how they wanted to put their penis in her asshole she got scared and cried and so during the day they told her to go out and live, and learn from the world, from nature and they let her run off and they went back into their field and toiled to make vegetables and feed cattle to slaughter.
She ran through the forest, testing what hurts her skin or tastes bad, poking sticks into dead poisoned fox carcasses and shitting into holes and wiping her ass with leaves and running along and drinking from creeks. This day she ran over a large hill and down into a valley and saw a house she’d never seen before and approached it like a curious dog, circling this way and that to see if anything was moving before inching closer, the learning her parents wanted taking hold, the natural curiosity and fear of anyone other than her parents.
She eventually made it to the window and looked in, no one inside, just a small house sitting there so still and empty. She tried the door but it was locked, she tried a window but it was locked and in her rampant enthusiasm took a rock and smashed in a window pane, opened the latch and climbed in. The house was empty except for a large chest of drawers, a dining table and a few wooden chairs arranged in a semi circle around a large metal pot. She smelt burnt hair and burnt wood, and looked around but saw nothing but for a pot sitting on the ground behind the chairs. She walked over, quietly, and peered into the pot, seeing a thick grey mash in there. She dipped her finger in and tasted the mixture, a warm if not too hot porridge that tasted like sugar and grain, the kind she has for breakfast but with a strong acidic aftertaste. She thought it was wonderful but needed to wait until it cooled a bit so she looked in the drawers first, thinking because of the hot food that whoever lives there must have just left and won’t be back for a while.
In the first drawer were a load of papers and candles, nothing in order just stacked in there, so she opened the second drawer and it was full of knives and tools and bits of rubber and leather and stuff like that. The third drawer had baby clothes and bonnets and little containers of powder and soaps and she stuffed some soap into her pocket and closed the drawer, not wanting to open the fourth one. She walked around the house, getting used to the dead smell of hair and wood and opened the door connected to these living areas to see a room with three single beds in it. She jumped onto the first one but it was as though it’s just a blanket covering wood panels and then the second one was like a pile of feathers lumped under a thin sheet but the last bed felt like her own so she ran back into the main room, piled a load of the grey meal into a bowl and took it back into the bedroom with her, eating it with her fingers and letting her body relax on the bed, trying to imagine what the people who live here look like or if she has seen them before in town and remembering how strange all the people in town look and how strange it would be to know any of them at all and the thoughts like this and eating the thick porridge and praying to god to bless her mother and father and keep her safe in his arms like she’s been taught sent her to sleep.

 
She woke to the sound of a door slamming shut, remembering where she was and that she was alone in someone’s house. She sat straight up in the bed and pulled the blankets up, panicking.

“Someone’s smashed in the window!” Mr Bear yells out.

“Someone’s had their gut full from the lunch pot” cries Mrs Bear.

“Someone gone and got in our house Pa” says kid Bear, going over his chest and flinging it open to see what’s missing. “They ain’t taken any of my stuff Pa!”

“Ma! Go check the bedroom will ya. I’m gonna get me rifle, go on now”

Goldilocks hears them moving about, hears what they say and hides herself under the bed, seeing there’s no windows in the room and the only way out is the door she came in. The door to the bedroom swings open and she hears the feet coming across the room.

“Pa! Someone’s been messin’ with Junior’s bed, look” and the Bears all pile into the room, walking over to the bed she was sleeping in. Pa Bear puts his hand on the mattress and feels it’s warm.

“Go damn there’s been someone in this bed” and his face appears under the bed, looking Goldilocks straight in the face.

“Well well, look at what we have here” and she squirms away but Ma Bear is on her, pulling her out from under the bed by her thin wrist and dragging her over into the corner of the room.

“What you doin’ in here little girl?” asks Pa Bear

“Nothing, I..I…I was just, exploring, ’cause, my mumma says, to…to, go out and…”

“You exploring in our house cutie pie?” says Ma Bear.

“I saw, that…no one was in her so I”

“You busted by damn wind-a that’s what” says Pa bear, resting the rifle on his hip.

“She’s pretty” says Junior, walking over to her.

“Now. Don’t you go touching her son, that there’s a devil woman” says Pa Bear, holding his son by the arm “see, we gotta get that devil outta her”

“Oh no Pa, nah we ain’t. She just a little thing with, look at her Pa, that golden hair, like, like an angel”

“Ain’t no angel son, you’ll see. Ma, pick her up”

And Ma Bear picks the girl up and places her on the bed, Pa Bear takes his pants off and moves over to her, Goldilocks stares at the man, stares at the boy and waits, terrified.

“See son, she just a lil rabbit, ain’t cha?” and Pa moves closer, gets to her, pulls her shorts down and opens her legs. Goldilocks, crying, thrashing, Ma holding her wrists down, Junior tugging at his father undershirt to let her go, crying too but Pa heaves into her and Ma laughs revealing her teeth and Pa grunting like a bear; “urgh urgh urgh eee-urgh” and Junior crying now and Goldilocks screaming out but soon Junior comes and puts his hand over Goldilocks’ mouth saying “sssshhhhh” and trying to get her to relax, soothing back her hair and she locks her eyes onto his and he says softly “it’s ok…it’s ok” and they stay like that her moving in that jolting way as Junior looks into her eyes and keeps saying “it’s okay it’s okay” and when it’s done they put her dress back on and she is crying and running into the forest hearing their laughter getting softer and softer.

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There is only a viscousness left

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I had her by the cunt you could say because we didn’t fuck anymore but she wouldn’t leave me because I got the money, I went out at 8 ah em and I came back there 7 pee em and that suited her just fine. I come home to her half pissed, half naked in clothes as impossible as that sounds:

“Did you leave the house today” I yell, first thing, spitting.

“No I didn’t fucking leave the house why the fuck would I leave the house, nothing out there nothing in her it’s all shit”

“You wouldn’t leave the house because where the fuck would you go. There is no place for you to go. Where you gonna go?”

“I’m not going anywhere. You get some smokes?”

And I did and I throw them at her and I take a cigarette from my own pack and we are in the place we live moving around smoking and not talking. I get a beer from the fridge, the last one and I open it a drink half of it and I open the fridge looking for another one that isn’t there.

“You can’t keep some fucking beer in here at least!” I yell across our home.

“What?” she yells back.

I walk back into the room, she is exhaling a plume into the open space.

“You are fucking useless”

“And who the fuck are you, huh? You walk in, throw my some cigarettes at me, now you’re gonna call me a piece of shit. Go get your own fucking beer you piece of shit”

“And what the fuck have you been drinking huh? You’re pissed already”

“Yeah well I’ve been drinking with Tommy today”

“Tommy is another fucking loser. You fuckers know how to get your hands on alcohol, right. You know what? Fuck this. Get the fuck out of there. Get your skanky ass clothes, shove them in a bunch of plastic bags and fuck off!”

“Yeah? Yeah? You want me to go? I will go if you want me to go”

“Get the fuck out!”

 

x                              x                              x

 

He was trying to get some work done after work, you know, real work. The stuff that keeps him going; to know He is still a person who has something beautiful to give that’s not bought and paid for by a bunch of moronic assholes (etc etc). Staring at the computer screen and the keyboard, screaming at him to create, make something, do something. The fucking world wide web has all of this shit on there come on and add to it. And then he added to it and it’s just some more shit into the pool.

 

x                              x                              x

 

There is no advertisement that can persuade you to purchase anything anymore. They all have the evil stink of self-interest. Worse; the advertising industry know this and have employed teams to get you to recommend products to your real-true-friends so that they buy what you have been convinced (by some means) to buy already. The fact that you genuinely tell someone about a product or service these days has been carefully calculated by ad agencies so that you are equipped to deliver the one line benefits straight to your nearest and dearest so that they too become purchasers (read: lifelong customers) of a particular brand or product (synonymous).

 

x                              x                              x

 

“Ah fuck you know I’m sixty now, sixty! and you know what I did love this girl, this one girl and she married my best friend, you know, what forty, fuck, forty years ago and, christ I was their first born’s godfather. And I still loved her. And I went there and did the thing in the church and I helped them paint their first house and still, still I loved her and I just wanted to be near her so I said ‘yes’ to being their kids godfather and I bought him presents and I was there on his birthdays and, and when he was a child they put him to bed so we stayed up drinking and it was always so close, the more I got drunk, so close to me telling her I loved her but that husband, my best friend, was there and it was so strange because I loved them both and I didn’t know how to say it and after more drinks it went away and it came to that thing again where I just talked about my life and how shit it was and they laughed because it was funny, really, and I made it all a joke but what I was really saying was how bad my life is because I was in love with a woman who was married and had kids and how fucking strange it is that I am one of those kids’ godfather, I mean go damn what the fuck happened to my life that this kind of shit would happen?”

 

x                              x                              x

 

I shouldn’t have given her my number, fuck, so I hang the phone up thinking thank fuck I have a phone you can hang up hard a proper with a handle not just a button. It rings again, so lovely to know someone wants you, or wants to tell you something that they have burning in their belly. I do it, I do, I pick it up.

“Fuck you don’t you fucking hang up on me”

“Sorry, ok? Sorry. But man you were talking all kings of made up imaginary bullshit there”

“What?! Yeah because you’ve worked it all out right, you already now what I’m gong to say”

“No, no I don’t but guess what I can probably work out why you’re bothering to say it”

“Oh fuck you”

“And, so, what’s up then? Hm?”

“I can’t event talk to you anymore”

“Really…really? And here we are on the phone. You know what I’m doing? Hm? I’m staring at a plain white wall, a cigarette in hand waiting to go outside and smoke it. That’s all. That’s what I can see and feel and I have a voice, you, on this thing. Okay? Too literal?”

“Christ you’re annoying”

“And you still aren’t saying anything interesting”

“I…I don’t want to see you this weekend. And…” long pause, me sitting there staring, holding back the urge to say anything, impatient, sure, “and I don’t want….this, anymore, this, thing we do, over the phone, this bullshit, text and call and…” and she exhales in an ‘urgh’ like that

“I get it ok, I get it. Guess what? That’s why we don’t talk. What are you bothering for?”

“Goodnight then”

“Okay”

And I hang up and get to feel horrible and cruel for the rest of the evening.

 

x                              x                              x

 

We, I, well we, I mean. Okay. It was one in the night and there was only that orange light that the council set up two weeks ago to stop all those junkies breaking into cars but what it did was give them all night to work and bathe our apartment in a sick glow that made us mad and crazy and awake too long. The baby was crying. We had a baby, we did that. We had a baby and it was weird. We didn’t really want a baby but we wanted a kid and we talked about how good it would be to have a good one, like, have a good kid that would grow up and be better than what we were and could be the best person ever and we talked about it and talked about what type and all of that and started having sex where I’d have to come inside of her to make a kid. It was funny because I’d say “what if I didn’t like it” or she’d say “what if it didn’t like us” and in these ways we’d laugh but now she was full of the thing and it was six months going and you could see it kicking and see its footprints pushing against her stomach skin and it’s like ‘whoa’ and I go back to my job and miss all those things and come home and want to watch TV but she wants a back rub and holy fuck of course there’s a thing inside you. I need to stop talking about it sooner or later. Can I skip ahead? We had the baby out of her and into our life and we did so well for so long, I mean we had a room next to ours, fuck the ‘lounge room” we never had a lounge anyway.

 

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I have no idea why you came to me with this

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I came across the best way to get money and that is to threaten an alone mother with her child, you say ‘give me your money or I’ll kill your baby’ and they give you their money straight away.

Being an artist means living truly, waking up and then immediately being an animal who wants love. Masturbating in bed, masturbating as you get up and walk around, gesturing with your cock like a politician.

Waiting for something to happen, waiting until you make something happen, sitting on the floor and tearing their faces off from magazines and cutting their eyes out.

I call my sister and she tells me how successful she is, I tell her I am sorry for being her brother.

Drinking alcohol, champagne this time left over from your birthday, inside the place where you live, remembering drinking champagne at your ex-girlfriend’s wedding.

Showering and shaving, cutting your hair, putting on a suit, putting on shoes, putting on fragrance, standing in front of the mirror, taking off your suit.

Watching a video of a penis going in and out of a vagina, letting it play on in the corner of the room, watching it from over near the door, the flesh and the sound over there ridiculously happening in the past.

She comes home and ignores me, I ignore her, she goes about doing things and I stare at the wall. We’re waiting from someone to speak but wanting no one to speak ever again and to go away.

Eating old bread with a glass of water and pretending you are a criminal and living in hell.

Visiting a café and reading the paper it became clear I do not care about anything. I looked down from the page at the things on the table and was horrified by the still cups and salt shaker and ashtray.

I was walking along a path in the botanical gardens and noticed lots of ants killing a writhing worm.

In planning your suicide you think of things like your parents, your employer, your friends and the way in which you’d like to die and hardly once think of yourself.

Ah, the voice inside! How it is true but leads to such pain. How ignoring the voice leads to such pain.

A mere acquaintance touched me gently on the back and since I hadn’t been touched like this for so long I instantly felt human and all of my evils melted away.

I awkwardly made love to her, manoeuvring my limbs in ways that were inexperienced and stilted. Soon I had my penis in and started moving it in and out.

Reading The Bible in a hotel room I threw it away because the delicately thin pages drove me crazy with temptation to hold them roughly or tear them.

Stabbing a person feels better than cutting chicken breast, there is a point when you know there is no going back, like bursting a balloon it pops in and is quickly done.

At 23 I lost a tooth when three guys beat me up thinking I was a homosexual so now I have a false tooth and take it out every night and put it on my bedside table.

In prison I made friends with a Maori guy who told me the best way to become a citizen here is to get a white girl pregnant and then her parents do the rest.

I try to go to sleep but I keep thinking about how it is impossible for the girl I love to love me and how there is nothing I can do for her to love me.

Being depressed forces you to appreciate things like a blanket, a shower, clean clothes and food. Other people want you to smile to make themselves feel better.

When I was homeless a person from a charity group tried to talk to me but they were smiling so much I couldn’t believe them and I asked them ‘what do you want’ and they said ‘to help you’ and I said ‘but what do you really want?’.

A twelve year old boy was standing outside a clothes shop listening to his iPod standing on his skateboard and texting a friend and he was the coolest person we’ve created.

I was lying when I told you the truth, there is no way that there is any truth to simply tell.

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The soul screams at you from inside the meat

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The soul screams at you from inside the meat. It says “I hate you” it says “You are right” it says “Look at how beautiful this is” it says “I love being alone”. It says “What the fuck is wrong with you” and “You know what those others have done?”. I am living with a girl and she told me that one of my characteristics was fear, or more being a coward. I don’t like hearing that but how I process it is “I’m scared to give away all the money I get every two weeks”. The thing is I have that thing inside me where I respect those who have character. That I am going to share their pain, that I am their comrade.

The soul screams at you from inside the meat. It yells at you because it’s dying. You hear it every time you keep those feet moving towards the life that’s not meant for you. How funny that I am still dealing with this. Who am I writing this for (besides myself)? It’s for those who hate how they are living. For me and them. I’m about to choose poor. Okay so can I do it? Back to that thing where I was called a coward. It’s cowardice to take the $1200 a week I get right now. Not hard at all.

The soul screams at you from inside the meat. I says you love her and you love loving her. You hate knowing that you are in love. You love love. You hate loving. You are confused so sit there late at night wondering if you love or worship. You wonder what is the difference. You don’t care and kiss her body five hundred times.

The soul screams at you from inside the meat. It tastes bad. It hurts because you realise how far away from yourself you are. You realise that you like things that are too expensive. You laugh and condescend those who are poorer than you and at the same time admire them for the very in depth soul things you want. But you hate people. Now what? It sounds like a board game.

The soul screams at you from inside the meat. How can you keep going doing the same things and liking them over and over. Dinner. Lunch. A bar. A cocktail. A first kiss. Yeah okay the kiss keeps you alive. But, another view. Going to move. What, all the time? For the rest of my life? I sat with her in the beautiful city of Sydney, on the water. She wanted me to tell her how I am planning to be rich. How she can be happy like this. I told her she doesn’t know who I am. She didn’t know.

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YOU WILL HOPEFULLY BE CHANGED AFTER THIS

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“You will hopefully be changed after this”
“After what?”
“What we discuss”
“Just, words?”
“Well, words with meaning”

–

The arbitrator said to the proletariat: how can you question what is right when you have barely spent the time to understand how complex it is to comprehend your gross menial dreams and encompass them into my plans! You brutal sycophant of a child! I can see what you want in each heartbeat and its medical care and a safe home and food and to drink until you’re drunk. I know! Now, you’re going to sit back down and let me tell you, okay?

–

I forgot to tell you
How much I love you
Because that other man
Was there and loved you
What I thought was less than me.

–

We came upon this discourse, would have been 500 or 600 AD, and you can forget Socrates or Plato or whatever (it’s the same guy anyway. Oh stop pretending you historian hybrids). Here’s how it went:

“And so the good man won’t perpetrate the natural desire?”
“Let’s first define what we mean by good”

And so it goes on and on as we know from Plato about good and bad etc until:

“So, we’ve defined what good is and what bad is as an intrinsic reason for making decisions and perpetrating acts as outlined by our highly elaborate and admittedly intrinsically insular personification, and now, the doubts you have are…?”
“And so the good man won’t perpetrate the natural desire?”

–

This time she pretended not to care but that’s what I love and every time she didn’t look at me (every time it was) it let me stare at her more and more, the dark eyeliner and thick blood red lipstick, the fucking sexy bitch she was, all in black like I was and eventually the rest of the Goths left and we talked, hard talk with all the drugs in our system, second guessing, faking, laughing, but we said together ‘dark crystal’ and knew we didn’t really care enough to like it seriously in any meaningful way but the family thing, the kid watching TV thing we had (even though it wasn’t particularly special or unique or anything) we had it and there wasn’t anyone there like I said and we just smiled and what came of that is another story.

–

So again the night and what I did to myself again. I promised so hard in the morning and in the day that I wouldn’t but the long draughts of wine and cigarettes into me made sense, they make sense, ok? Yeah and those little bodies downstairs, I imagine them writhing, squirming in their little outfits, like they have wet skin already, the soft skin they have and grins and everything. Last night I got one of them down on the ground and her friends were down the alley and she had finished pissing so her panties were down and got to rub my hand on her little pussy and it was so small between my fingers and it made me think how old I was but I left her there and she ran away and I was gone like anybody.

–

“So you wanted to talk about what happened”
“No…not really…I just said, you know…”
“You don’t want to tell me?”
“I just want you to think….um…that………”
“That what”
“That there’s…something….more to me…but not….a pretending thing…a….um…like a…um…”
“…”

–

My mother said:

You like the beautiful ones.
As if I don’t deserve it,
Or I should light a candle.
But I worshipped enough
To realise what beauty is worth.

–

The pieces of life we have, I just sit here and my testicle area stinks when I sniff it because its been days between showers and holy fuck how did that happen and does it get worse? I didn’t want to end up like this, I knew guys like this, saw them and got the fuck away (or secretly admired their conviction to getting ulcers from the drink and still making their way to see people and lend them money and what not). Fuck that, I’ve even now seen the early thirties version of that and its terrible: these benevolent humans giving and giving because they can right now at the detriment to their very life souls…did they give up on something, is that it? Lost love. A love that they had and let go? Unreturned love (the worst)?

–

“So this time there’s something different, okay, tell me”
“I’m the worst…there’s really something wrong with me”
“Okay…so, you say now that there’s something wrong with you”
“Yeah”
“And, what makes you say that?”
“Well…okay…so….you know how you’re just sitting there?”
“Yes”

–

She doesn’t want love,
She wants life.
The best man,
Not the bride groom dead thing.
There it is, dying on the altar.
I will go away.

–

The next thing we discovered, oh boy!, was the artefacts of a Pythagorean discourse, it said (after thorough translation through the highest of authorities):

“Did we give too much, I mean, to the ages. This simple back and forth of the earth and its pieces of objects, like we’ve seen in the tides or in our hands?”
“No master, these things are precious!”
“But can you see them making sumptuous arguments on the basis of our symbolist reasonings?”
“Never!” they scream, in ancient Greek (trust me).
“If we were to tell them the truth, that all of mankind are beholden to the bareness of the stone and the orbit, would they not strap us to the nearest tree and thrash out our wounds with the harshest of instruments?”
“Never?” they scream….but not the true scream they had inside. That would be later, as prophesised.

–

Oh fuck yes, even though I’ve got a ‘barely there’ condom on I can still feel the head of my cock sliding in and out of the whore’s mouth…expensive too, she is. I thought ‘why the fuck not’ and went to one of those classy places. Class! Ha, I love that…better looking bitches that’s for sure. Some fat fuck was at the bar talking to some hot blonde chick and she knew I wanted her and I can if I want so I just walked over and grabbed her arm and she pulled it back (but she’s not supposed to) and the fat fuck in a suit guy looked at me and I fell over him and I don’t know what happened but the hot blonde girl was up against me and we left out into a corridor and I thought ‘this is better’.

–

They made you say those things, right, because for one thing you are beholden to them for your certain kind of reality and for another thing you just want that pay packet every week. The week, the day after day stuff that forms seven…again seven, like it’s a prophesy or a dia-traumatic existential cacophony that you can only dream of escaping from. I tell you, even in the barest of pseudo-philosophic realms can you even hope to exclude yourself from the inevitability of this age. Go on! Press on! Keep going! I want to see you up over the hill, again and again in new roles yet hopefully not new personas.

–

“OK, so the thing that you say, is so wrong”
“Yes”
“What is it?”
“Okay, well, because you caught me early today, I mean, this time”
“Go on”
“Everything I say is….designed”

–

Today we felt a new reality.
One without our togetherness.
And so she kissed me
On the cheek
So many times
It made the death sweet.

–

The cunt didn’t even give a fuck when I put three cubes of ice in her drink, spilled it anyway onto the floor, wood floors but it came up onto my rug and I thought “well, we’re going to fuck anyway” and she drank it down like I did and I got her pants off and her stupid top, hell, it can stay on, gross spandex thing with all kings of ringlets and gold plating (fake). Leave it on I say, already got her pants of anyway, my clothes are off cause its my house and what do I care? She half naked on my bed and I’ve got my body over her, stinking drunk but we’re not kissing and we make it I think.

–

In the tomb of Ramses there was an inexplicable piece that outdated cuneiform literature and made us all rethink social integration. After examination from both Judaeo-Christian theologians and Arabic historians they came to the conclusion that the translation erred somewhere thusly:

In the careful consideration of the intrinsic differences beholden towards the races, it shall be observed that those who hold juxtapositions in beliefs shall be hereby amalgamated into a singular group of purity that shall transcend all mankind and unify the divisions seen throughout the barbaric lands to unify these somewhat beguiled and incongruous races into acknowledging a central human deity that shall supersede any esoteric and injunctioned party so as to allude to the pure sense of a greater entity that shall hence forth be perceived in a wholeness that will eviscerate any division that could lead to war, death, famine, puerile bigotry or otherwise confusion.

–

“Ok, so I know what you think hearing this so it’s like I’m seeing myself telling you and so I already know what you’re going to say and so what I actually say is, ok, beyond that”
“I see”
“Yeah right……ok, can I say…I already know what you think, its not a mystery, you’re going to say ‘he has a hyper-real reality that he believes he is in control of but he’s so aware of this that he can’t open up to other people’. Am I right, I mean, is that close to your one-visit assessment?”
“Sure…you’re very aware of this process I’ll admit”

–

The avatar, the dead face:
The old men and women, stoic in photographs.
In their tombs or rebirth we feel
Loss or sadness
Because what was done
Keeps being done.

–

Six fifteen, not even dark and those office girl clothes, holy fuck, tight skirts like they bought on the weekend they did. And they just walk in them and like a fucking disgusting fool I’ll follow them and some of them meet you for drinks, but away they go! And this one now walks home, changes from her high heels into some type of white cheap “joggin shiwzs” every day right near the parkway turn off she does, those white shoes, three months later they aren’t so white and then down there by the underpass I do this thing one day where I grab her and knock her head onto the cement a few times until she is quiet and then, well, and then, right.

–

In the journal of mankind we are told things, some of which are basic like: do unto others as they would do you, or, the truth shall set you free. Instead in this modern world we are coerced into behaving so inhumanly, instructed to be so monstrous and then ridiculed and even fired upon revealing any sense of our lingering humanity or sensibility so until the end we will love raping and torturing and we do it all under the sweeping proviso that nature (we interpreted) set forth: the survival of the fittest, which now is the survival of the willing: willing to lie, willing to cheat, willing to forsake another’s trust to benefit your own tiny piece of sustenance. And when do I stand up and protest or proclaim this idiocy. When? Fuck you now = no money for you.

–

“Go on”
“Yeah, go on….ok, well, I remember when I was kid…and I…well, I didn’t really know that all the other people were around me, my family I mean.”
“You felt alone?”
“No. Christ no, not like that. I mean…I felt, enabled, free…um…and I’m not trying to self-analyse here, but, um…like…you know, um, real? Um, like, true, I mean…when it rained, ok, when it rained…sometimes, I mean like, once or twice, really, I just….and no one was home, ok, so, like…these two times, I, like…took off all my clothes and just ran around, naked ok, in the backyard, feet on grass, naked, in the rain. I mean, I can’t remember now but, where the fuck was everybody? Right, in my memory, I mean, they were somewhere but I was just there alone and naked and did like laps of the backyard and just came back to my room naked and wet all over with rain and it was like so clean and pure and I just thought, man, that was the most free I’ve been in like fifteen years! Fuck! What do you have to say about that, I mean, really? Beat that!”

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SLATER AND SLATER

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Frederick had a good idea. Jelly wrestling, three girls, then, five or six big pig dogs come in and just jump in there and start, ripping at their flesh but the girls, they’re like laughing and trying to play with them even as the dogs are sinking their teeth into their legs, bellies and breasts, and their hair is mixed with jelly and blood and the dogs are like pure muscle and going crazy like devils and the girls are sort of screaming laughing and almost like fucking the dogs and squirming, you know. How to film that though? Johnno thought of lots of spliced close ups and then Fred was all like real dogs but tame and real girls and like fake blood but is that enough? and then James, you know, the boss, just kept asking how does this sell beer and we’re like it’s a joke, you know, like how guys like jelly wrestling and dogs and it’s like, overkill, you know…all those other ads with girls and cars and beer but he didn’t get it he just wanted jelly wrestling and like loud rock music or something and we were saying that’s not interesting and back and forth and so we had to go and come up with some more concepts but instead we were so pissed off we just went on an early lunch down at Henry’s. What a shit hole really but the damn place is right next to the office and it’s like four bucks a beer so we just bought beer and Tom bought some wedges and that was that.

“Fucking hell I thought James would go for that, man!”

“We didn’t pitch it right, I mean, we didn’t have the images right”

“Yeah, we need some photo outfit to get some glam shots of that shit”

“Yeah yeah like, some stills of some hot models covered in like jelly and blood and stuff”

“Got to be blondes…GOT to be blondes”

“I’m getting another round”

And we had rounds, four rounds or something because what faggot wouldn’t buy a round? Normally Tom but we made him get a round, trying to get out of it buying some wedges, fuck that, get some beers AND some wedges Tom you asshole. Nancy at the front desk, sexy bitch, was all smiles and giggling because she could tell we were all half pissed and Johnno was like ‘what you doing tonight’ like he always does and she says something like ‘nothing with you’ the playful little thing and we get in the lift and Fred lights a cigarette and we’re telling him to put it the fuck out and he does one floor from the office and the doors open and we pour out all smoke and loose suits but you know that’s what we do and who the fuck is going to say anything…come up with better work and then we’ll talk. There’s a new girl in the office and she’s all open eyes and saying nothing so, you know, screw her she doesn’t know who we are and it’s back in our office and Fred rips down the cards with the dogs and shit on them and says ‘next!’ and we get out our pads and phones and I say ‘what next? That’s the fucking idea. Lets pitch it to the client!’ and Johnno says we can’t because of James and as much as we all think fuck him it’s not how it’s done, asshole got his hands so tight around the clients scrotums they’d never go with anything he wasn’t sitting there smiling about with his big shit-eating endorsement. Whatever, got to make this sex and death thing more appealing…how the fuck can you advertise some beer with the slogan ‘Get it down your throat’ I mean, that’s aggressive right I mean what else do they want? Their last piece of thirty second garbage was some Swedish skiers malarkey and it’s all about blow jobs and snow and swallowing frozen sperm or piss or something and like THAT’S okay?  Tom closes the blinds and Fred lights another cigarette, Johnno gets the small bottles of scotch out of his drawer and sets them on the table, I take one and pour it onto a glass ‘ice?’ but no one filled up the bar fridge

“Fucking hell! How hard is it to fill it up the fucking sink is right there, or wait no, there’s a jug of water in the fucking fridge right there, jesus’

“Shut up Sash it was probably you”

“Yeah right, like I’m a cunt huh?”

“Just drink it neat you baby, or splash some of your ‘fridge water’ in it”

“That’s not a bad idea, Johnno, pass me the jug”

And so I tip some of the water in and we can get on with it…a new idea to sell this piss tasting beer.

“Beer bongs?”

“Nah…too teen”

“Too obvious”

“Well, they did go with cock sucking Swedish chicks…”

“All right fine…what about a DUDE wrestling with the chicks?”

“And what is he getting down his throat”

“Like, like a freeze frame at the last second of some chick with half her hand down his throat, and his eyes are all bulging and he’s all red and about to throw up, you know, like, gagging, and it’s like freeze frame in the moment and then: Greigsons…Get it down your throat…BANG”

“Right and then we do like, five of them with shit getting stuffed down throats right, like, choking on a pie or like, sword swallowers or…”

“Porn chick”

“Fuck imagine…that would be cool…yeah…okay…not bad”

“Ha! That’s hilarious!”

“Ok ok, Tom, draw something up…lets see how it’ll looks for a pitch”

“Fucking geniuses again…what was that like, five minutes”

“No way Fred, we were talking about that all lunch remember”

“Oh yeah…expense account!”

“Fucking A”

The afternoon wears on but we’re done here really so we wait until Tom has finished mocking up the stills and they look pretty good and the little bottles are gone so I email Nancy to fill it up for tomorrow and we have a few more cigarettes and grab out jackets and leave. James is n the hall and he stops Johnno and they go into his office but the rest of us get in the lift. Me and Fred get out at the lobby but Tom takes it down to the basement. Typical Tom.

*                              *                              *

The morning sun makes the office look all yellow and like we’re still in the 1960s. Doesn’t help that the office was actually built in the 1960s and the tiny windows that were so cool back then just make this air conditioned hell hole even seedier, pinholes of light blasting in on otherwise dark cubicles. The account managers bashing away in their cells trying to place pissy little ads in magazines or newspapers or, fuck! The end of the industry…online advertising. Like anyone buys shit from a ugly banner ad. These kids have no idea, all fresh-faced, fancy designer clothes, nice university degrees that say ‘digital communications’ or ‘social media’ bullshit. You want money? Get your shit onto TV period. Thirty seconds to get some sitting-at-home-on-their-useless-fat-ass idiot to bother to get out their credit card the next time they’re in some shitville store and buy some useless crap they think they need just because we told them to. That’s it. You want to know what stuff we’ve sold? Okay, toothpaste, okay? Oraldent. Used to be some ugly all-white too-minty paste that no one would ever consider buying…tucked down there at the bottom of the shelf with the crappy ‘we contain no fluoride’ shit for weirdos and hippies…and especially not when the ‘family trusted’ brands like Colgate and Macleans have such a duopoly. What we did? Oral dent. Dent. Oral. Do the maths. We had every fucking male teen from the age of fourteen to THIRTY buying that paste. Why? Because why the fuck would you want to raise a family when your could get a blow job every morning, or even the idea of a blow job every morning. Even if it’s a joke. Even if you don’t even think you’ll ever get a blow job in the morning, it doesn’t matter. Now they’re the number two selling toothpaste in this country because we know what makes dumb fucks tick. Tick. Ha, that’s a joke. We need to get some more god damn titis in here. Fucking bosses keep hiring these faux-beard ‘Gen X’ in touch with the skaters douchebags…we’ve got more semen piling up in here than a fucking sperm bank. Sorry, crap line but you get my meaning. Everyone’s twittering like the world’s gonna end…fucking hundred years time the world’s hard drives are gonna be full of useless puke about people’s ‘day-to-day’. Day to day? Since when did anyone care about day to day? We have entertainment, books, movies, art, music and god knows how many things specifically designed for us to forget about the annoying morose day-to-day! God, these kids…they could use a drink, and just as soon as I stop flirting with the girls in the café that’s exactly what I’m going to do: The blondes getting their herbal teas and wheat free muffins are all cute and stuff but they must look at me like I’m some hard skinned monster but, you know, it’s cool to play with the whole they-have-to-worship-me-because-I’m-senior-partner stuff and they just say whatever nice thing pops in their empty suck-cock-to-get-ahead brains, about my tie or my shoes or (god) my cologne, which, by the way, is just good scotch and maybe a few squirts of Ralph Lauren whatever is new. Didn’t even mention the watch…wouldn’t even know it’s an Omega.

“Long black darling and don’t you dare out any sugar in it”

“Of course not mister Bernstein”

“You been here long?”

“You ask that every day”

“Do I? And what do you say?”

“I’ve been here three weeks Mr…”

“Sash, okay…did I ever tell you to call me that before? Seeing as you’ve been here three weeks I must’ve told you to call me Sash before”

“Yes…you did…but…”

“But what?”

“The other partners they….I call them…like mister and…”

“Okay okay, so…you’re thinking ‘this up-his-ass prick’ is, what, just like all the other up-their-ass pricks so even though he is saying ‘don’t call me mister’ he actually means please keep treating me like a fucking up-his-ass prick is that right?”

“Oh, (laugh) oh no…it’s (laugh/giggle thing) no…”

“Okay, okay so…from now on…okay…from now on you’re going to call me…what?”

“Um…Sash”

“Perfect…Sash, okay…and we’re not going to do this again, right?”

“No Sash”

“Excellent…and it’s a long black you’re making?”

“Yes Sash”

“Great”

So I have to deal with this fucking idiot just to get a coffee, right? So instead I can pay two dollars fifty downstairs or deal with this? Okay okay…’thanks’ I say and take my coffee out of there and remember that I can just buzz Katy to get me a coffee and why the hell not, it’s her job and I wouldn’t have to talk to that three-week idiot again but then of course those insipid yet easy ‘account manager’ girls are there, but, you know like not worth it. In the office Tom and Johnno are already doing something and I don’t really want tog get involved right now and Fred’s on the phone talking some bank stuff so I tip some scotch into my coffee and wait for us to start the meeting.

*                              *                              *

Tom’s got another bruise on his cheek he’s covered in foundation, like we can’t tell, the idiot, get carried away doesn’t he and forgets who’s in charge or actually likes it (!). So, SHOES   ARE   FOR   FEET, that’s what we’re dealing with today and Johnno’s on to all these ideas like ‘crushing’ and ‘soul destroying’ and other weird stuff but it sounds good. We’re going to kill the whole ‘shoes give you freedom’ clichéd crap pouring from other agencies (for Nike) or the ‘shoes make the man’ boredom (from Boss) or the ‘women love shoes’ idiom (from Sex and the City type stuff). Fred’s got a pair of the things on the table and they look okay, kind of like half-sneaker half-dress shoe type of things like you can wear them with a suit or at least good dress pants like these rappers do, rappers ha! more like fucking millionaires trying to ‘keep it real’ by wearing these things with suits, okay, so you’ve got the picture. They’re, what, like three hundred retail. Okay so we’ve got like six boxes of them and they’re all pretty much the same: leather, laces, clan lines, fine sticking, not too much stupid swirls and crap, kind of low key and shined up, like a good leather jacket but a shoe.

“Okay so it’s like don’t take shit”

“Shit. What shit?”

“Like the whole shoes in a club, shoes in a fuck-off restaurant stuff”

“Okay”

“Okay so, like, fuck the convention, wear these”

“Yeah okay…what’s the hook?”

“Who makes these anyway?”

“Ah it’s some Paris Hilton type brand…they cal themselves Billionaire’s club…it’s Pharell. From The Neptunes”

“Yeah yeah, they’re the guys that have basically remade Justin Timberlake and Brittney and co.”

“And who are we selling to?”

“Fucking hell Tom do your research. It’s basically for fucking trend-heads who have no money but are BURSTING to piss away their McDonald earned cash for these ultra cool shoes, right? So they can dance like mother fuckers and get laid while looking all ‘I don’t give a fuck’ shabby. Got it?”

“Yeah yeah I know…Christ I was up until like three or some shit…give me a sec guys”

“Yeah right and that smack to the face isn’t helping”

“Shut the fuck up Fred…this…this is something else”

“Been spending too much time in the basement huh? You’re gonna get AIDS at this rate”

“Yeah those girls have AIDs, like they don’t check that shit”

“Ha yeah, you’re right. Anyway fuck, we’ve got like three hors to nail this all right? They’re here this afternoon”

“Are we taking them for drinks? What girls are we getting? Not Stacey again because she is a fucking annoying lightweight. Almost cost us the Christal account”

“Um not Stacey…she’s fired Sash”

“Makes sense”

“Of course we’re taking them for drinks!”

“Yeah I mean we just need a basic outline, some shit they’re going to think is like ‘whoa’”

“Okay so…back o the basics…what do these rich kids want, huh? Sales…but…why the idiot no-money-hip-hop-douchebags? Can we, I don’t know, get the cashed up white folk buying these?”

“Yeah right like ‘be as cool as an African American’! So what, we need some big asses or what?”

“Yeah, we need hip-hop beats, oiled up asses and just at the end the shoes. Fuck it, that’s easy”

“Christ, too easy. Keep thinking”

“No wait, how we gonna pitch with Tom all banged up wearing his sister’s make up?”

“Fuck off Johnno”

“No seriously Tom…what the fuck were you thinking?”

“I got carried away you know….you know what it’s like”

“Um yeah I do, but I don’t get them to hit me in the fucking face! Ah fuck it whatever, it’s done. You can just make the mock ups and go home to get your shit sorted”

“Okay okay…lets just get something up on the cards”

“I’ve got it! Dominatrix. Tom, rub that makeup off your face. Johnno, all that weird stuff you were saying about ‘crushing’. Here it is; hot chicks, leathered up, I mean make up, hair, all that. Wailing on guy’s with these shoes on…like fucking loving it, right, like, sexy cool, like, fuck you I can do what the fuck I want. But before that it’s all suits and style and all that Jay-Z classy stuff, but like in the end their like getting whipped and fucking these hot dominatrix bitches, right?”

“Sash you are a fucking genius”

“Yeah yeah and Tom is all like, ‘I get it, I love it’”

“Fuck off”

“No seriously, you can be presenting this shit with your whole bruised face thing wearing the shoes, I mean, you’re not an ugly fuck, hell, you’re probably the best looking guy here. We need to get you a better suit…call Katy”

We celebrate, Tom makes the cards, Johnno on the phone again and me and Fred finishing some scotch telling each other we need to make sure they buy better stuff next time. Johnny Walker black label, what the hell is that crap? It’s only eleven and we have to wait two hours for lunch.

*                              *                              *

We get back from lunch and Rick is in James’ office, throwing his arms around like he does, got James smiling his wide smile, getting his cock sucked always makes him look like that. Fucking little ass crawling shitbag…last ad he did was for a magazine, some up-herself stick figure blonde chick dressed like a god awful princess gracefully receiving a diamond ring from some homosexual male model, yeah right, fucking beautiful. Did we keep the account? Yes we did. How did we keep that account? Because James the moron promised them a BIG TV AD…and who’s doing the ad? Not fucking us I can tell you that. Now Rick is all shit scared and trying to get in with us. Yeah keep buying us drinks, yeah send us your pathetic emails. Get ready to burn in hell you little piece of shit. Good luck affording your new apartment and suits. Fucking hotheads, you know, they land one job and start spending all their cash like it’s gonna last forever. Doesn’t matter how long you been doing this, you fuck up, you lose the client’s money, and you can kiss your life goodbye. I mean it. You mess up with half a mil of someone else‘s money, just try and get a job in this country again.

“Ricks in with James gain”

“That little shitbag”

“Tell me about it”

“Got his fucking tongue right up his ass huh?”

“You know it”

“Got a taste for ass that little ugly cunt”

“Ah fuck him, he’s out of here in one month, tops”

“Not the way he gets that cock down his throat he won’t be”

“Forget that shitbag, lets go over the pitch”

“Fuck the pitch lets go downstairs”

“Henry’s?”

“No dumbass, downstairs”

“Why not? We got a couple-a-hours”

“I’m in”

“All right lets go…grab some bottles Tom”

And we’re leave that mess behind, got it all down anyway: Shoes + Bondage = Sex Sells. How hard is that? Those rap douches are going to go ape shit for it. We’ll tell them about oiled up shaved muscled black guy chests, gold chains, sexy big assed chicks, whips and leather and crap and BANG their shoes in the frame, all fresh and edgy. They’ll be hard as rocks when we’re done…bus ads, billboards, magazines, TV, music videos, soft-core porn micro sites, everything. Sign up for some barely covered tits spanking some other barely covered tits. Cut to Shoes. Done. We get in the lift and press the big red ‘B’.

There’s only one spotlight on, hard to see if there’s anyone here today. The chains and cuffs are open and I can maybe make out a bucket. Tom turns the lights on and there’s two girls over in the corner sort of half sitting on each other, some light sheer nighties on and pink fluffy slippers. It’s not cold in here, it’s maybe like 30 degrees, they look scared.

“What the fuck did you do last night Tom?”

“Nothing…I mean, this one chick, this one chick, she…she fucking…like hit me so, like…you know…”

“Oh not again…you’re a sick bastard you know! Now we gotta go over there and be all nice and shit. Fuck you’re a moron. Luckily you can do mock ups like no one’s business. Urgh, get the keys”

Tom gets the keys off the wall, one of the girls get up, yelling something and we tell her to shut up we’re coming in and she’s struggling against the ankle chain like some dog and it’s pathetic really and she’s saying we’re all pigs and Fred’s laughing and Johnno is already talking his clothes off. Tom opens the cage and we go in, the other girl is just sitting there all quiet and the other one is standing there, nice tits, firm and pointy. She must be like, twenty, maybe twenty one, jesus the assholes upstairs know how to keep us going that’s for sure. Johnno walks over to her and pulls her hair back, she tries to kick him but he’s not weak and just moves her back and turns her around, pushing her against the wall and playing with her ass, she’s trying to push back but he’s got his other hand on her wrist and he’s twisting her arm hard against her back and pushing her face into the cement. He’s got her nightie up and is pushing his fingers into her holes hard and dry and she’s crying out and he asks for a gag. There’s a rag on the floor which I give to him and he wraps it around her mouth and ties it so she can only sort of whimper and it’s better that way, still, her hands are all over the place so he takes her over to the rack and eventually get’s her hands cuffed in. The other one is watching us and it’s like she’s curious or waiting or something so I go over and sit next to her.

“You like this?” I ask and she doesn’t say anything, “Huh? You like watching her getting raped? Lets watch then”.

Tom comes over to me but I gesture for him to go away, he goes and sits on a bench and lights a cigarette, he had enough last night the pervert so he’ll wait his turn. Fred’s got a big dildo and he’s rubbing in between the girls legs, she trying to kick back but Johnno hits her in the ribs and she calms down. Fred spits onto the thing and shives it into her pussy but it’s not working so he takes it out, spits on his fingers and starts working her open that way. Johnno rips her nightie off and starts sucking on her nipples while Fred works the dildo into her pussy. She kind of struggles but the two guys are pretty much just doing whatever now and Fred’s got his face buried in her ass. The girl next to me is motionless, I open her legs and she doesn’t do anything, I start playing with her pussy and still nothing, it’s like, what the fuck is wrong with her or more likely, something really is wrong with her. Not very erection inspiring, or maybe that’s her game? I pull a blanket out and lay her down face first and start to take my pants off. The other guys are really going for it now I mean, Johnno’s slapping the hell out of her ass and Fred’s driving the thing in and out in and out and she’s got her head forward and trying to scream but it just sounds like a really soft cat meow or a howling dog or something and Johnno pushes Fred away and throws the dildo into a corner and starts really fucking her, I mean like really like he can’t possibly even enjoy it himself and he’s pulling her hair and spitting on her face and all kinds of shit and Fred joins Tom on the bench, pulls out a mini-scotch and smokes a cigarette. I’ve got two fingers in this girls ass and it’s tight and warm and smells like shit but it’s a sweet kind of thing, it does dawn on me ‘when did these girls last take a shower’ but it was probably this morning so they should be pretty clean and my fingers come out okay so not too bad and I keep working at her asshole with fingers and spit until it feels ready and my cock is hard. Johnno is done and he’s turned her around and her arms are crossed and her face is red and covered in loose hair and his spit and now he’s got his whole hands up there just ramming at her and her tits are jumping up and down so fast you can barely make them out and he gestures for someone to come over and Tom gets up and goes over and Johnno tells him to undo her cuffs and she falls onto the floor and then they’re just fucking whatever now, face, pussy, ass, and I can’t watch anymore because it’s so abstract, these two guys just moving about shoving their cocks here and there while this girl is like, like, a rubber doll of something. And I’m like up to my waist in this girls ass and she’s just making this ‘uh uh uh’ sound which is really tuning me on and hell even I start doing it, thrusting and saying ‘urgh’ like louder than her so it’s all so intense and she’s like a quiet lamb just taking it and I’m having actual nice thoughts about this one which is rare and I don’t like that any more so I put my hands around her throat to you know like stop the sound, just squeezing her neck and pulling her head up and she’s got her mouth and eyes shut tight now which feels good and I cum in her ass after about one more minute of this and I’m done. Johnno is done too and just like he always does it getting his suit back on, over by the sink with the mirror smoothing out his hair with water and watching himself smoke a cigarette. Almost a too cool but too crazy a thing that ritual. Tom the psycho is hitting her in the back of the head and calling her ‘slut’ ‘cunt’ ‘whore’ and all kinds of stuff, really taking it out on her. Poor guy, must be how we treat him, right? Comes down here, goes fucking ape shit. Terrible.

“How’re things Fred?”

“Yeah fine…not really into it today”

“Throw me a bottle huh?

He throws me a vodka and I throw it back, then he throws me a scotch.

“Fuck what the hell, they’re still giving us this shit. I got to talk to Katy.” I open the bottle and finish it one go, “hurry the fuck up Tom, jesus. We got a pitch in like half an hour!”

Tom’s banging away, got that look in his eye like he’ll never stop so we just leave him there and I throw a roll of toilet paper over to the girl I came inside.

“See you upstairs Tom…don’t be late…two thirty okay” and he kind of says okay but it’s like o-o-o-k-k-k type thing with breathing and now we’re done it’s just plain gross to see Tom like that.

*                              *                              *

The men’s room on our floor has these warm-wet-forest-fresh towels that I use to get her shit out form under my nails and the aroma is so refreshing it’s like ‘where am I?’ but the feeling is broken by the sound of some sicko pissing in a urinal like right into the water. It’s like ‘didn’t your parents or someone ever teach you not to do that?’. I mean seriously, what kind of unadjusted socially retarded peasant does that? Oh look, there’s some water I guess I’ll pee straight into it, like in the river back on the farm. Manners, right, like maybe someone else is in this cacophonous tiled room that’s a veritable echo chamber to expose all your basic bodily functions. If you need to be told this then you should be fired on the spot. We don’t want inconsiderate illogical dunces working for Slater and Slater. The cubicle door opens and it’s no surprise that Rick strolls out, a dullard’s grin on his face as he publically zips up his fly.

“Sasha, how’s things. Heard you got the Greigson’s account. Man you guys are the business”

“Sash”

“Huh?”

“Don’t call me Sasha ok? It’s Sash. In fact, don’t even fucking call me Sash. You’re gonna call me Mr Bernstein or your ass is going out the fucking window, okay?”

“Jesus take it easy. I’m on your team, okay? We gotta get this place up and running twenty first century style you know what I mean?”

He runs his hands under the tap, no soap, reaches for a hot towel,

“Hey. What the fuck are you doing slimeball?”

“What” he says, picking one up and rubbing it on his face and neck.

“You ever hear of hygiene?”

“Huh?”

I turn on the tap, press some foam soap into my hands and rub them together, looking at Rick like he’s an infant.

“See? Watch me now. This is the important stuff your alcoholic fuckhead of a father should have taught you”

“What did you say?”

“I said your fresh-out-of-jail unshaven loser of a father should have at least showed you how to wash your hands. What the fuck do they teach you where you’re from? How to steal car stereos that no ne wants anymore and sell them for a tenner?”

“Hey man…you’re out of line”

“Out of line, huh? I tell you what’s out of line…you fucking coming up to me and anyone from my team and even thinking for a second you are one of us. For a second. What kind of fucking degenerate university taught you that you know ANYTHING about what we do. You push out the most gut-sickening clichéd shit I’ve ever seen, get one account per year that takes a fucking truckload of cum drinking for you to keep. Maybe make what, a ten percent commission, and then try and fucking stand here next to me, rinse your fucking loser ass piss stained fingers under cold water and just think ‘hey, I’m going to talk to Sash…even though I am a turd and he is a FUCKING PARTNER!’ Any of this making sense to you?”

“Calm down man, I’m just…”

“Shhh. I’m done. Okay?”

My heads buzzing, scotch and fucking and that got damn oily skinned bad suit asswipe just comes together and

“Hi Sash”

“Hi Stacey…how’s the mag going?”

“Good good, but hey, I wanted to ask you…”

“Not right now okay…I’m pitching in like five minutes so I’ve got to go get my face on”

“UH, okay Sash, but, I, I’m gonna come find you later”

“Sur Stacy, you come by and see me. We’re gonna go for a drink though okay”

And she says something but I’m not really listening and it’s amazing I even got those three lines out at all. They’re all in the office and Tom is making some more sketches, like the back up sketches because as soon as one of the idiot executives freaks out we just put those up and they calm down and we can push through what we want without them doing too much thinking. Legal. Consumer. Reaction. Blah blah heard it before, way ahead of you. Fred’s playing with his phone again, he’s getting screwed over some share deal so we understand but he’ll have to keep the crowd going in about ten minutes and Johnno is sitting back, smiles at me when I come in. I sit down and run my fingers through my hair, it’s weird right now, I’m more shaky than I usually am.

“You okay Sash?”

“Yeah. Are we ready? Let’s go”

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