Tag: photography

from my story book Paradox of fiction

Lilith and Michael

She smiled—cautiously. She genuinely smiled. Then she laughed, and the glass slipped from her hands, shattering into countless safe shards. Hundreds of harmless fragments. Nothing that could hurt her, nothing that could spoil her mood. Yes, it wasn’t dangerous—so it wasn’t safe either, but it left no lasting consequences. Just shards. Just a problem in small pieces. Pieces that couldn’t cut her… pieces that weren’t dangerous. If only everything could be resolved this easily, she thought. If only everything could be neutralized so simply. Moreover, it was fun—just like playing melodies on a piano she couldn’t actually play. That melody still resonated in her head, like a tune you unconsciously whistle or hum all day long. Fun, initially pleasant. Piece by piece. Shard by shard, recreating a whole. Harmony. Harmony of pieces and the whole. She felt as if she’d discovered the recipe for happiness, at least for a moment. She knew she’d break a lot of glass tonight.

Tonight, I won’t be Lilith. Tonight, I’m Lil. Just like my mom calls me. Like Dad does. Just like he did. Like I used to call myself…

Meticulous. Adorably confident. Tonight, anyone but Lilith… hence all the certainty. She never walked all over herself. Not ever, in anything.

Want it? Take it. Don’t want it? Let it be. Your choice, my will.

She wasn’t playing around. Certainly not tonight. She was just enjoying the remainder of her free day.
A deep breath…

She felt so liberated that even the idea of nausea seemed unreal. When she finally fell asleep near dawn, she was still smiling—not because everything had gone according to plan… simply because there had been no plan at all. Nothing could go wrong. Nothing could fall outside the boundaries she hadn’t set. Before she lost herself in the most delightful kind of oblivion, a memory of the scent of vanilla flitted through her mind.

In the morning, she woke up early. She packed only the essentials and headed for the door. Halfway there, she returned and peeked into the adjacent room, where he slept soundly.
“You bastard,” she whispered.

Then, with utmost care, she opened the door so it wouldn’t make a sound and quietly, happily, left.

“Good morning. Could you give me a ride?” she asked, approaching the car that had stopped.
“Sure, but I’m heading to eXCity, so I don’t know if that’s your way.”
“Oh… yes, it is. Can I hop in?”
“Get in.”
“Do you mind if I sit in the back?”
“Sit wherever you want…”
“Back seat because of my bag… there’s not much room up front, you know…”
“As I said, wherever you want… and buckle up so the car doesn’t complain. I don’t know where the sound settings are.”

She carefully shut the door a second time, fastened her seatbelt, and eagerly awaited the car to start moving.
“How far are you going?” he asked, turning his head slightly over his shoulder.
“To eXCity.”
“Really? So, we’ll be riding together the whole way,” he said. Great, he thought. At least it’ll make the time fly. He turned down the radio volume, and the car set off.

“I’m heading to eXCity to see a friend. It’s been a long time. And you?” he addressed her formally, despite being old enough to be her father.
“I’m moving to eXCity for work… actually, I’m relocating there.”
“Relocating? With just one bag?”
“It was a last-minute thing, and I don’t need more.”
“Fair enough. People don’t really need much.”

She watched as places she knew so well disappeared before her eyes.
“Do you hitchhike often?”
“No, this is my first time.”
“First time? And you’re not afraid?”
“No. Should I be?”
“Not of me, for sure… but still… moving via hitchhiking… I used to hitchhike often, but no one ever picked me up. That was a different time, though. I had long hair back then, which wasn’t exactly standard, so I couldn’t blame anyone.”
“You had long hair?” She scrutinized the ordinary-looking man behind the wheel. “I can’t imagine you with long hair.”
“It was just the style of the times… rebels are rare nowadays. There weren’t many ways to stand out from the crowd.”
“Were you a rebel?” she asked, amused. “You don’t seem like one.”
“Well… people thought I was a rebel. People see you as they perceive you, not as who you really are.”
“And now? Are you still a rebel?”
“That, I can’t say… frankly, I don’t care who people think I am.”
“So, you still are.”
“Perhaps only a rebel to myself… rebellion needs an audience, and I don’t seek crowds anymore.”
“Yeah, that’s an age thing,” she let slip, wondering if mentioning their age difference might have offended him.

He laughed. “True enough… young rebel, old fool.”
“Not at all.”

The city finally gave way to the highway, and she realized they’d fallen silent. She desperately wanted a cigarette. Glancing at the dashboard, she noted how clean it was—bad luck, a non-smoker. Rebel non-smoker. The prolonged silence felt rude. Inappropriately long.

“What’s this music you’re listening to?” she broke the silence.
“Do you like music? I like this band.”
“I love music, but I must admit my taste is quite different.”
“I listen to everything… every kind of music has something to it. If nothing else, then the lyrics. It’s inspiring. When we stop at a gas station, I’ll light up unless you’re in a hurry.”
“Not at all. I thought you didn’t smoke… I’ve been craving a cigarette too.”
“I could stop at the next rest area, but those are usually empty, and I wouldn’t want you to feel uneasy with a stranger in the middle of nowhere.”
“Whatever you prefer… I’m not scared of you.”
“I once read somewhere that men are in far more danger when alone with women.”
“Really? Where?”
“Couldn’t tell you… it’s been ages. So, gas station or rest area?”
“Doesn’t matter… whichever comes first. Though smoking at a gas station isn’t allowed.”

The sound of the blinker announced an imminent turn. He pulled into a rest area, parking in a spot visible from all angles. He offered her a cigarette.
“Thanks, I’ve got my own.” From behind the wheel, he seemed smaller.
“OK.” He pulled a cigarette from his pack and lit it. She did the same. They stood beside the car, silently smoking.
“What a fluke,” she said.

He gave her a curious look, unsure of what she meant.
“My first time hitchhiking, and I catch a car heading exactly where I need to go.”
“That’s true,” he admitted. “…and to think I usually take a different route. Not the one you were on. It’s like a direct flight.”
“Pure luck.”
“…or your fluke,” he said with a smile.

He dropped his cigarette pack, bent down to pick it up, and his jacket rode up, revealing the handle of a gun.
“You’re carrying a gun?” she asked hesitantly.
“Oops… you weren’t supposed to see that. Now you’ll be scared of me… unnecessarily.”
“Why are you carrying a gun?”
“It’s not a gun… it’s a revolver. I’ve just come to believe that an ID card won’t protect me. Don’t worry.”
“Why do you carry it? Are you a cop? An agent?”
“No, I’m not. Just an ordinary… guy?”
“Ordinary guys don’t go around armed to the teeth.”
“Then you don’t know many ordinary guys. The most ordinary ones usually do.”
“I don’t believe that… my dad is an ordinary guy, and he doesn’t carry a gun.”
“Does your dad strike you as ordinary?”
“No.”
“See? He’s not ordinary… I am. Or so it seems. Are you still coming along with me or looking for another ride?”
“I’m not scared… I’ll go with you.”
“Let’s stop somewhere for lunch on the way… you must be hungry after all this moving.”
“Direct route with an escort and lunch included… Thanks. I’m not hungry. Besides, most places don’t serve couscous.”

Back in the car, she buckled up again.
“Don’t forget the seatbelt… it’s really an annoying sound,” he said, glancing in the mirror to see if she was complying.
“Do you like couscous? I’m not a fan. Every attempt I’ve made to cook something tasty with it has been a disaster.”
“You just don’t know how to season it… it takes a little imagination.”
“Imagination? That’s one thing I wouldn’t say I lack…”
“I’ll write you a recipe… do you prefer sweet or savory dishes?”
“Sweet and salty, spicy… I’m curious to see what you’ll make of that,” he replied, amused.
“Don’t worry… I’ve got it. Can it have lemon?”
“Sure… lemon’s fine.”
“The result will resemble couscous only by name.”
“Like I said, you need imagination.”

The city was within reach.

“The result will resemble Malaysian cuisine… do you like fish?”
“Like?… I love it… you have no idea how much…”

She pulled a small notebook and a simple pencil from her bag and started writing. “It’ll be delicious… you’ll see.”
“I promise I’ll try the recipe later.”

Silence filled the car, interrupted only by soft music and the sound of the tires. While she carefully chose the ingredients for the recipe, he stared straight ahead, motionless. He thought about the last time he had exchanged so many words with someone. A year? The last time… but it doesn’t matter. Now or then. It’s not bad to talk once in a while. Just don’t spout nonsense. Keep the conversation at this tone.

She didn’t notice the gun… that’s a mistake. It will become a key detail in her memory. He didn’t want anyone remembering him for too long. Too long was indeed too long. And above all, no lecturing… don’t ruin her imagination. At most, let himself pass through her consciousness like a gray mouse. She would meet plenty of mice in her life, so one more or less wouldn’t make a difference.

“All done! I hope you enjoy it. It takes longer to write down than to prepare,” she beamed at his back, handing him a page torn from her notebook with the recipe.
“Thanks… I’ll definitely give it a try,” he said, taking the offered sheet, folding it between his fingers, and tucking it into his chest pocket.
“There’s a gas station coming up; I’ll stop for a bit.”
“Sure, I’m just along for the ride… stop if you want.”

If I want to stop? What did she mean by that? Probably just what she said… nothing more, nothing less. Don’t overthink it.

“You can step out, have a smoke… I’m just buying cigarettes and gum.”
“OK… I’ll stay in the car.”

He pulled into the parking lot behind the gas station and turned off the engine.
“I’ll be right back.”
“Take your time… I’m not in a rush.”

He got out of the car and headed for the store.

For a moment, she sat still, looking around the interior. There wasn’t much to see; he could have left the radio on… In the compartment on his door, she noticed a pack of Ferrero Rocher and a few crumpled cigarette packs. He had left the keys in the ignition.

She got an idea…

He walked out of the market and tore open the packaging on the cigarette box. He hated this unnecessary part of the wrapping. Heading back toward the parking lot, he noticed the car he arrived in was gone.

He looked around to make sure there wasn’t another parking area where his car might be. There wasn’t. Slowly, it dawned on him.

He burst out laughing. “That’s the second mistake today… nice. A pretty expensive recipe.”

“Girl, if that couscous isn’t edible, you’ve got a problem,” he muttered to himself.

“Alright, mister… now we’ll see just how ‘ordinary’ you really are,” she said amusedly as she drove the car away.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Hi Bixby… search my car.” He waited for the GPS tracking app to load. Good… it’s heading toward eXCity. At least that’s something.

“Hi Bixby… call BF.” He listened to the ringing tone, which lasted longer than usual.

“Hey, man,” BF finally answered.

“Hey, buddy. Small complications on the way… I’ll be a little late.”

“Trouble?”

“No, nothing worth mentioning. I just got a sudden craving for couscous, so I’m held up shopping.”

“Couscous?… Dude, you’re starting to scare me… is this some new trend?”

“Relax. Thirty minutes late… an hour at most.”

“Alright…”

“I’ll call you. Later.”

He pulled out a cigarette and lit it.

“Hi Bixby… call George.” The call was answered almost immediately.

“Listening.”

“Saddle up and pick me up at the 76th exit toward eXCity. Now.”

“Alright. Give me 15 minutes… where are we headed?” George didn’t sound particularly thrilled.

“Somewhere for couscous.”

“For what?… ” He could imagine the look on George’s face. “…I’ll be there soon.”

“I’ll wait.”

He slid the phone into his pants pocket, leaned against the wall of Exit 76, and put on a poker face… the kind that announced a draw. He wondered if he’d overlooked something… besides underestimating things again. Whatever happens, happens. Stupid girl. Are there even days when nothing abnormal happens?

George showed up during the second cigarette. He pulled up right next to him. He took a drag, stubbed the rest of the cigarette out on a battered “Safe Travels” sign, and got into the car.

“Where to?” George asked.

“If you’ve got a full tank, then eXCity. If not, back up to the pump.”

“Everything’s set.”

“Then let’s go. Take it easy… and get an air freshener for this car. It smells like a Russian bus… vodka.”

“Is the couscous in eXCity better than ours?” George couldn’t resist asking. “That was a joke, right?”

“I don’t tell jokes, which is why I don’t try.”

“Alright… we’re off for couscous… and when the cops pull us over, can I say, ‘Gentlemen, sorry for the speeding, but we’re in a rush… we’re on an urgent couscous mission. This guy is addicted to it.’ Then they’ll make me blow into a breathalyzer… and you’ll have to lick something.”

“I didn’t say we’re in a rush… just that you’re driving me.”

“You’re in a great mood…”

“I’m always in a great mood. I just can’t pull the same faces as monkeys… or whatever species you are.”

“Alright then, we’ll drive like two respectable gentlemen… that’ll look completely normal,” George quipped sarcastically. “This is gonna be fun.”

“Drive so we’re in eXCity by six at the latest.”

“Does the health food store close at six?”

“At six, monkeys like you close… now turn on the radio and focus on driving.”

“And open a window. You smell like a moonshiner.”

He pulled out his phone. “Bixby? Search car… let’s check if we’re going the right way,” he muttered more to himself than to George. She was still heading in the right direction… he continued watching her on the display. It was more entertaining than listening to George. He suddenly remembered the recipe. Reaching into his pocket, he took it out. He set the phone on his lap and unfolded the paper with the recipe for what was now the most expensive couscous of his life. For a moment, he stared at it, confused… then grabbed the phone again and dialed the number written on the note.

The phone rang for a moment.

“Hello?” came a female voice.

“What if I hadn’t opened the recipe?”

“Then you’d just be another completely ordinary guy with a gun?”

“Your fuel might have lasted you to the next gas station if you’d driven calmly, but you were going a bit faster. According to GPS, you’re about 30 kilometers from Shell… you’ll have to walk a bit. I always fill up exactly.”

“It’ll work out… I’m half your weight.”

She wasn’t stupid, he had to admit.

“And besides, I think you’re glad you’re not the one driving that car… am I wrong? This isn’t exactly the scent of Ambi Pur, is it? I’m certain you didn’t call the cops.”

“So the score is two…”

“Oh, come on… this isn’t a competition. It’s just a little give-and-take. You wanted to get me somewhere safely… you helped me out of a tight spot… and in return, I’ll get the car where it needs to go.”

“I’m inviting you for couscous.”

“Girls don’t fall for couscous,” she laughed.

George stared at him in confusion. “What the hell are you rambling on about with this grain?”

He covered the phone with his hand and snapped at his friend, “Georgie, if you stay silent for the rest of this drive, I’ll owe you a case of vodka.”

“Are you there?” he asked into the phone. Silence. Utter silence. No response.

“George, step on it a little.”

“About time,” George said, satisfied, and pressed the gas pedal.

“Hi Bixby, search car…” He didn’t even wait for the app to load; he turned off the phone and shoved it back into his pocket. He stared at the “recipe,” adorned with hastily drawn flowers.

---

She was bluffing. Not even a minute had passed since she set off toward the gas station on foot. It was within sight—maybe less than a kilometer away.

She waved at a passing car. An unsympathetic-looking man with sloth-like features and hairy arms stopped.

“I just need a ride to the gas station… ran out of gas.”

“Get in,” he offered eagerly.

“I haven’t been driving long… thought I’d make it, but here we are. It didn’t work out.” She tried to keep the conversation going, not giving him time to ask questions.

“Good thing the weather’s nice… Thanks, you’re so kind.” Kind to pretty girls—they always bend over backward to help—she thought to herself.

“I filled up this morning, so… want me to take you back to your car? There’s a ramp to the opposite direction right ahead,” he offered.

“That would be great, thanks. I’ll just be a minute.”

Every gas station sells gas cans. Gas cans for people who thought they could make it.

“Would you like a coffee?” the cashier asked.

“No, thank you, I’m in a hurry… just filling up for five bucks.”

She made it to the pump. Slipped her credit card into the reader. Gasoline or diesel? Crap. What does his car run on? No time to think.

… I always fill up precisely—she heard his voice in her head. Whew. He spills his guts about everything. She filled up exactly one and a half gallons. Keep the change, she mentally tipped the attendant and rushed back.

“Alright, if you’d be so kind to take me back now,” she said with her best smile from Category 1.

“Of course, we’ll be there in no time,” replied the hairy arms.

How much time have I lost? Ten minutes at most, she calculated. She had no idea if she still had a lead. But when he called, he’d shouted at someone… That probably meant he was already in a car. Not much time left.

“Thanks, you can stop here… I’ll climb over the guardrail.”

“It’s just a bit further to the next exit…”

“Stop. Now.”

She looked like an ordinary girl holding a gun. And she wasn’t smiling. Definitely not.

Wordlessly, he pulled over to the side.

“Thank you… You’ve been a great help… I owe you one,” she said, smiling again.

“Rather not.”

“Well, thanks.” She winked at him.

“Thanks to you, too,” the sloth murmured.

She climbed over the guardrail, looked around, and ran to the car. She gave the thirsty vehicle a drink.

“You’ll have to manage for a bit longer with your stingy owner,” she said to the car. She left the empty gas can by the roadside. It took a moment for the fuel to reach the injectors. The engine finally started on the third try. And off she went. She could afford to drive fast now. The gallon and a half would be enough to reach eX.

She turned on the player. He said he listened to everything. Let’s see what “everything” includes. She glanced at the road while flipping through tracks. Oh… you listen to this too? She picked a song and hit play.

“Haciendo el amor a la misma que tu te toca, Bebe no te pasa…” she sang along.

---

The screen flashed: Battery critically low. Damn.

“What day is it today?”

“Tuesday… why?”

“Ah… makes sense…” — just a typical Tuesday. On Tuesdays, I really shouldn’t even use the microwave.

“You got a charger?”

“?? Martina? You know her. Why?”

“For my phone, idiot. You’re unbelievable.”

“I’ve got one… at home. Just kidding. It’s in the glove compartment in front of you…” George chuckled at his expense.

He opened the glove compartment. Desert Eagle. Magazines. .50 AE IMI rounds. No charger.

“There’s no charger, just a pile of iron…”

“It has to be there…”

“Well, I must be blind… Wait, it’s here… You’ve got a mess in here, like a woman’s purse. I hope it works.”

“It should… as long as you’ve got the right connector.”

“Yeah, right… Everything’s wrong. We’ll hit a gas station in a bit. I’ll try to find the right cable.”

“Take my phone.”

“Your phone can’t track what I need to track,” he muttered, debating whether to admit that his car was stolen by a sweet girl. No, George doesn’t need to know everything. I’d be hearing about it for the rest of my life, he decided against it.

“Hey… did you see that? A gas can… did you see it?”

“What?”

“A gas can on the side of the road… looked abandoned.”

“Unless you see a phone charger lying on the side of the road, I don’t care about a gas can.”

George pulled into the parking lot.

“I’ll be right back…” he said, realizing that he’d already used this line today—and right back hadn’t been fast enough.

“Don’t drive off… wait for me.”

“Sure thing… I’ll wait until the door shuts behind you and then rush to eX to buy out all the couscous for you.”

“Don’t even think about it, moron.”

He walked into the store and called out to the attendant.
“Hey… do you have phone chargers?”

“We’re just a small gas station. I don’t think we have that,” replied the girl in the Shell cap. “You’ll probably need to head into town.”

“Alright… I’ll just take this then.” He grabbed a bottle of Jack, paid, and returned to the car.

“Nice… I’m guessing they didn’t have the charger,” George quipped.

“They didn’t. Drive.”

He unscrewed the cap, and a good quarter of the bottle vanished. He glanced at his phone. The battery indicator mercilessly suggested there was no point in asking Bixby for anything.

“So, that’s why you need a driver today… Jack,” George laughed.

“Who knows what I need… I don’t. But thanks for coming right away,” he said, his snippy tone softening.

“Something bothering you?”

“I wouldn’t say that… I just forgot how to have fun, I guess. There’s less and less left to enjoy…”

“Remember what you said once?”

“What I said? I’ve said too much in my life to know what you’re talking about…”

“You’ll only truly enjoy your own death.”

“I stand by that.”

“That’s creepier than it sounds.”

“There’s nothing creepy about it. People should fear their own words, not others’. If they’re afraid, it’s their fears, not mine. There’s a lot in life you’ll never reach, a lot that’ll pass you by, even the things you almost touched. So why not enjoy what you can reach for sure—something inevitable.”

“Ah, a philosophy lecture… People either love or fear your ramblings. Sometimes, I’m not even sure what you mean.”

“Just imagination… people fear their own constructs of what might come. My role in that is insignificant.”

“Will you tell them that?”

“Why? Why steal their imagination? All I do is try to awaken it.”

“Oh, how moving… especially with Jack in your hand,” George chuckled.

“You have no idea how lucky you are.”

“Why do you think I don’t know? Don’t underestimate me… also your words.”

“Just words… like Navajo code. You never know who’s listening… watching… someone’s always interested.”

“Big Brother?”

“A brother, a sister, anyone… analyzers. But only a few can translate it—they’re on the same wavelength. Imagine you have just a few words to describe absolutely everything in the world.”

“Like in Apollo 13? You have this, and we need to make this?”

“Something like that… except you need to make everything—absolutely everything—out of what you have. Evolution of experience.”

“For example?”

“Like if I can only use words like Joker and piano.”

“I don’t get it.”

“See? But there are people who do—they know exactly what I mean.”

“And what is it, in your language?”

“Imagination.”

“So, when you need to say imagination, you say Joker and piano?”

“Something like that.”

“That’s probably why so few people talk to you…”

“I know… doesn’t bother me… sometimes.”

“So does it bother you or not?”

“It’s just the price you pay.”

“Another coded phrase?”

“Why?”
“Just curious… You and ‘tax’ sound like ‘Joker and piano.'”
“See? You’ve just created your own language.”
“I’ll stick to my own.”
“Still, it’s gonna stay in your head forever… trust me.”
“And what does ‘we’re going to eX for couscous’ mean?”
“You wouldn’t understand… and trust me, I’m not underestimating you.”
“Damn, I feel like I need to buy couscous because of you… It’s fun… watching you drink Jack, but I’m the one feeling drunk.”
“I’m not drunk…”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“And it doesn’t matter if you think I am…”
“I’d better not think about anything anymore… really… feels like you’re reading minds sometimes.”
“…you’re overestimating.”
“No… just not underestimating.”
“Only percentage chances of variations and combinations of possible probabilities… Do you know how many slaps it takes for a single caress?”
“Shit… a lot?”
“More than a lot… so many that you think you can’t take another one…”
“Then I don’t want that kind of caress.”
“It’s not about the reward at all… It’s about the journey.”
“Dear God, can we just get there already… Finally, eX,” George almost shouted in relief.
“…just a bit longer, and you’d drive me crazy.”
“Maybe you went crazy a long time ago.”
“Not me,” George thought.
“You sure about that?”
“Go to hell… Where now?”
“Here, maybe. You head back… I’ll walk a bit… I don’t even know where they sell couscous here.”
“I don’t have to understand everything… really, I don’t. Should I pick you up later?”
“I’ll let you know if I need you.”
“I’ll drop you at the center.”
“Okay. I’ll leave you the rest of the Jack… and borrow your hardware.”
“You need hardware for couscous? Don’t you have your own?”
“I do… six-shot. Maybe I’ll need more arguments.”
“Need backup?”
“No… maybe I just want to enjoy this.”
“Be careful… that thing makes big couscous. And you can’t play your Russian roulette with it… nutjob.”
George parked right behind a police car. The old saying about hiding under the lamp is true. A thousand times.
“Alright… and if anything happens, it didn’t.”
“As always… or I’ll burn like a holy card in someone’s hands.”
He stepped out of the car and walked past the police car toward the shopping mall. They didn’t even look up from their phones. Among the crowd, he’d be a gray mouse. He turned on his phone, and it beeped three times before shutting down for good. That’s it. BF is God-knows-where, and there were no solid arrangements made. He scanned the square quickly with his eyes, looking for his car.

---

She followed the navigation to the city center. She drove through the square and parked in one of the nearby side streets. No trouble at all. There was plenty of space everywhere. Alone in an unfamiliar city.

She didn’t want to do anything until she returned the car to its owner. He hadn’t called, which was strange. To pass the time, she wandered past shop windows filled with useless trinkets. Useless things have a way of beautifully decorating new places. She had the urge to buy herself something right away. A small memento. Something to remind her of this day.

A picture? A mug? A mug wasn’t a bad idea. I could use it for my morning tea… Besides, the glass she had been using until yesterday was in pieces now… the pieces in the trash… and the trash in Eden.

---

“I believe you have the keys to my car,” a voice said behind her.

She had just enough time to put on an indifferent expression.

“Aren’t you glad?”

“It wasn’t safe.”

“Now it’s back in your hands,” she said, handing him the car key.

“Today’s been enough already.”

“I guess so… Have you figured out where they serve that couscous of yours?”

“I’ve only been here a little while. I didn’t have that much of a head start. And couscous isn’t cooked; it’s prepared,” she corrected him.

“Where’s the car?”

“In one of those alleys near the square… I think it’s that one,” she said, gesturing with her chin.

“I thought you could track your car.”

“If my phone’s charged, yes.”

“So that’s why…” she realized.

“Would you show me where you left it… just to be sure.”

“Don’t you trust me?”

“I did once already today…”

“You owe me.”

“For what?”

“For parking… five bucks… they charge a dollar for half an hour here.”

“Let’s settle it at the car. Deal?”

“Fine… I’m just kidding. I’m glad I got here so quickly. It was fun.”

“Well, not for everyone.”

“Did you feel helpless? Up against the wall?”

“Why?”

“The car’s probably stuffed with hash or charas… you can’t call the cops on a thief. Tough situation… It was careless of you.”

“Of me? You’ll see for yourself that I could’ve called them right away. You just pointed out my weak spots. In that, you scored. Your game was entertaining. But there’s something in that car I really don’t want to lose. I’ll show you something at the car,” he said with a laugh. Maybe she didn’t find it.

“And we’ll have lunch here… if you don’t refuse,” he said as they passed a hotel restaurant.

“Maybe they have your special dish on the menu.”

“Maybe not.”

“Well, if you want to find out, I’m inviting you. I haven’t eaten since yesterday morning, and I’m definitely getting lunch.”

EXCity is a magical place full of useless things, store windows crammed with nothingness, differing only in material, shape, or color. They passed by displays of trinkets, brothels, casinos… everything for EX’s residents and visitors.

Across the street, he spotted a flower shop—I still need to buy those lilies, he reminded himself.

“There it is,” she said, interrupting his thoughts.

“Let’s just check if everything is as it should be… You might be surprised.”

“Surprises are never too much… as long as they’re pleasant ones.”

“And can you tell the difference? Between pleasant and unpleasant?”

“That’s a silly question… Pleasant ones feel pleasant, and unpleasant ones don’t. It’s simple.”

“Or selfish… I think everything has its way of being pleasant.”

He unlocked the car. “Do you see anything illegal?”

She peeked inside again. It has to be here somewhere. “You don’t smell it?”

“Smell what? You mean this?” He removed an air freshener from the vent and held it up for her to smell.

“Is it what you think it is?” he asked her. “It’s a product my colleague developed. He works on creating new perfumes… Not bad, huh? His idea was a cologne with an extract of cannabis… I think the strain is called Desfrán. It’s a peculiar sweet fruity scent with citrusy notes and a hint of cannabis… refreshing,” he said, smiling at her.

She didn’t feel surprised—more like caught off guard. She was convinced she had royal flush confidence.

“The most important thing in that car… is this,” he said, and from the compartment under the armrest emerged stacks of cash. At least a hundred thousand dollars… maybe more. Bens, Bens, Bens.

“Not the money, but what’s underneath,” he clarified, pulling out the bundles one by one until he revealed a small plastic bag at the bottom of the compartment. The kind dealers use. Inside the bag were a few fish scales.

“This was the most important thing in the car… these fish scales… they bring me luck.”

“You’re weird,” she said, still staring incredulously at the stacks of cash. A fresh start wouldn’t hurt.

“Why? Money doesn’t hold lasting value… only immediate. There are places where you can’t buy anything with it.”

“And fish scales are currency?”

“Exactly… but money doesn’t bring luck—not to me, at least. The money’s yours… maybe it’ll cover that parking fee,” he smiled, pulling a single Ben from one of the bundles. “The flower shop doesn’t take cards.”

She stared at him, bewildered.

“And what kind of surprise is this? A good one… bad one?”

“…I can’t take it… I just can’t. That’s a lot of money,” she whispered.

“Have you ever seen a lot of money?”

“Yeah… now.”

“I mean a real heap of money… I’ve seen a massive one. Several, actually… and no one near it was happy. But I’ve also seen many happy people with just a few scales.”

Fairy tales, fairy tales, she repeated to herself.

“Maybe not,” he responded to her unspoken thoughts. “That’s why I’m offering you this money. Maybe you can use it for what you truly need… renting a place, buying furnishings, whatever it can cover. And maybe a year from now, we’ll meet again, and you can tell me how much happiness it brought you. Deal?”

“I can’t… not that it wouldn’t help… but I just can’t.” She didn’t even register what he was responding to.

“Well, if you can’t, I’ll have to leave with your little pile of money now… and that’ll bother me. Trust me… I can’t keep it anymore.”

“What’s the catch? Sex? Are you some kind of pervert… or something?” For the second time, she looked at him with concern.

“You watch too many movies,” he laughed. “Life isn’t a comic book.”

“So, what’s the catch?”

“You’ve already earned it. I paid for a lesson in reality… and that fleeting feeling of happiness was worth it.”

“And what if I don’t show up in a year?”

“Then I’ll just hope you’re okay.”

“You’re weird… definitely weird.”

“Everyone’s something… so are you.”

“I don’t believe you don’t want anything.”

“Well, if you insist, you can make me your couscous sometime.”

“That won’t be right away though… I need to find a place to live first, a job…”

“I thought you had a plan… that you were just moving, not running away…”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Fair enough… but in that case, this will come in handy.”

“I can’t… I don’t want to learn to be grateful… or indebted…”

“Are you grateful to your employer when you get your paycheck?”

“It’s just too much…”

“They’ve just gotten used to paying too little…”

“So, you’re saying… fine. I’ll put it in my bag now and leave… and you won’t do anything… Am I understanding this right?”

“Exactly.”

“How you wish…” she said, walking around the car to sit in the passenger seat. She placed her bag on her lap, unzipped it, and began stacking the bundles of cash inside. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him, wondering if he was doing anything suspicious, but she couldn’t see his face—he stood too close to the car. She only noticed him pulling a lighter from his pocket.

He lit a cigarette. He could see her unzip the bag and place bundle after bundle inside. From his vantage point, he glimpsed inside her bag—there were quality hi-fi headphones and a box of Ferrero Rocher chocolates. He leaned slightly to check the compartment in his door. His box of Ferrero Rocher was gone. Everything was as it should be.

Once done, she zipped the bag shut, unsure what to do next. She didn’t feel happy. That man… he was right. What kind of man is this, anyway? she wondered. She didn’t want to leave the car.

“Do you want a ride somewhere?” He leaned in and peeked into the car. “What’s wrong? Are you feeling okay?” he asked with concern. “You look really pale…”

“I’m hungry, and I don’t know what to do… now.”

“I can definitely help with the first thing… and once we’ve handled that, we’ll try to figure out the second.”

He shut the driver’s door and walked around to her side. Before he could get there, she slammed her door shut and tried to lock it. She was panicking.

He shook his head, tossed his cigarette, opened the back door, and sat behind her.

“Is something wrong?”

She was silent, leaning back into her seat. The adrenaline she had woken up with that morning was now in freefall.

“Hello… is something wrong?”

“I don’t know… Doesn’t this ever happen to you?”

He realized the car smelled different. In his hand, he still held the air freshener with its cannabis scent.

“I’m just going to put this back on the vent, don’t be alarmed,” he said, leaning forward to return the freshener to its place.

She smelled wonderful. Iris, mandarin, rose… an exquisite fragrance.

“Or not. I’ll just put it in the door pocket back here. You smell much better. You have great taste… you smell wonderful.”

“Do you like it?” she asked.

“I don’t recognize it… but it smells lovely. So, how about lunch? Maybe you’re just feeling down because you’re hungry… You’ve probably had quite the day, haven’t you?”

“Can I leave my bag here?”

“Of course.”

He got out of the car, instinctively glanced around, and opened her door. The street seemed safe.

“It’s just a short walk, and you’ll feel better.”

“It’s all just hit me…” she muttered.

“You’ll be fine… trust me,” he reassured her.

“I haven’t been out for lunch in a restaurant in ages.”

“Let’s check out the menu and sit down.”

He locked the car, and they started walking.

“Are you okay? Do you need some support?”

“No, no… thanks. I’m feeling better now,” she replied, but she still instinctively took his offered arm.

“Hold on a moment. I forgot to plug my phone into the charger,” he said suddenly.

“Can’t take a step without it?” she teased.

“It’s a safety net, and anyway, while it’s charging, I’ll be taking plenty of steps without it,” he replied with a grin.

“I’ll go with you.”

“Don’t worry… I won’t even touch your bag.”

“I wasn’t worried about that… I just don’t want to be alone out here.”

They walked back to the car, where he plugged his phone into the charger, and then headed toward the restaurant. From a distance, they looked like a couple. Up close, the illusion held. A perfect deception.

“Anything to drink?” the waiter asked as they settled at a corner table.

“What would you like?” he asked her.

“Strawberry juice… or, wait, no… iced green tea,” she answered.

“And for you, sir?”

“Wine… red… Australian. Syrah?”

“Will you be eating as well?”

“Yes,” they replied in unison.

“I’ll be back with the menu shortly.”

“You’re having wine? Not planning to drive today?” she asked.

“If that were the rule, I’d never be able to drink—I’m always in the car.”

“What if the police stop you?”

“If I get caught, it’s always fair. I want to live the way I like, not just survive by following some rules.”

“You don’t follow any rules?”

“I follow only ten. That’s all you need for a content life.”

“You’ve never broken them?”

“It’s impossible never to break any rule. You just try not to stray too far from them… and avoid making new ones.”

The waiter returned with a glass of iced tea garnished with lime and crushed ice, and a glass of red wine.

“Just bring me the whole bottle… it’ll make it easier for you too,” he offered.

“It’s my job, sir. I don’t mind,” the waiter replied politely and walked away.

“Tell me something about yourself?” she asked once the waiter was out of earshot.

“What do you want to know?”

“I’m a woman… I want to know everything,” she said with a faint smile.

“Something specific? My job… my life?”

“Anything… just talk. You’re good at it.”

“I’m not sure how to make boring things sound interesting… just a gray mouse.”

“A gray mouse who gives away money?”

“I don’t give it away… I let it grow. But money has no real value. You’ll see that for yourself. What brings me joy are ordinary things… and not even things in the literal sense. It’s more about feelings—those are what I focus on.”

“Feelings?”

“Maybe I love… and I admit, quite selfishly… making someone happy. You have no idea how incredibly pleasant it is to think that you’ve made someone happy. Unfortunately, often you can only assume it. And that’s where my selfishness lies… and I know it. It’s complicated…”

“A selfish do-gooder?”

“If there’s no other way… then I won’t stop doing something that makes me feel good. A person mustn’t stop thinking about themselves… if you do, you just give everything away, and then there’s nothing left to give. Nothing remains. It should be balanced. But it’s not always possible… sometimes you have to… well, not really have to, but there are times when you react too quickly… and then it all falls apart. The scales swing wildly…”

“You’re talking like a Libra. Are you a Libra? I mean the zodiac sign…”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Even though you’re quick to respond… it’s those, forgive me… mentor-like words. Teaching without offending anyone. I’d say, typically Libra.”

“Well, the truth is, people, without exception, are proud of their signs… and then they let what someone writes about them influence them. It’s just psychology.”

“Do you know what my sign is?”

“Can I take a guess?”

“Go ahead…”

“Wait… I’ll try to recall all your reactions… Pisces?”

“No way… I’m not a Pisces.”

“I give up.”

“Shark. I bite when necessary.”

“Point for you,” he nodded appreciatively.

“No… it’s a tie.”

“Are we competing?” he raised an eyebrow. “You know… I’m not really the competitive type. Sometimes it happens that I switch into predator mode, and that’s not good for anyone… I don’t want to compete.”

“Why predator?”

“Predator or Terminator… and always in the worst versions.”

“I actually like the Predator…”

“Like it? Why? The one from the movie?”

“Yeah, that one. It’s entertaining…”

“But aren’t they trying to kill each other there?”

“That’s what predators do…”

“Yeah… eliminate. The quickest way to minimize a problem is to eliminate it… but in the long run, it’s not really a solution.”

“So now I know you’re weird… and very much so… and also that you’re an eliminator…”

“Not really… we’re all just constructions in other people’s heads. We’re all the same… the only difference is our imagination, which is shaped by the forms of our experiences.”

“You must be well-read…”

“I only read occasionally… when I come across an interesting person and there’s a book about them. Sometimes classics… otherwise, not much. Cops don’t like it when you read while driving.”

“…or drink alcohol before driving.”

“That’s why you drink while driving. Then, when they ask, you can truthfully say, ‘Did you drink before driving?’ No. The truth doesn’t aim for a target… unlike a lie.”

“You don’t seem to laugh often.”

“Why do you think that… do I look like I don’t?”

“You remind me more of a professor, the kind you remember fondly, than a guy who laughs a lot.”

“Well, sometimes there’s nothing to laugh about, but it’s not that I don’t enjoy laughing… it’s just… never mind… do you want me to smile more?”

“Yeah… just be natural.”

“Then make me laugh… with something.”

“I swiped your chocolate from the car compartment…”

“My chocolate? I’m calling the cops…” he said with a mock-serious face.

They both burst into laughter.

“Have you decided yet?” the waiter interrupted.

“Do you have couscous?”

They started laughing again, even though they knew they had just put the waiter in an awkward position.

“Of course, we do,” he replied. “The best in town.”

They tried to suppress their laughter. It wasn’t about a funny situation—just tension releasing in an easing wave of laughter.

“And what would you recommend?”

“The lady will decide,” he told the waiter.

“Is couscous a must?” the waiter pondered aloud.

He glanced at her questioningly.

“I like it… but it’s not a must.”

“I’d recommend Neptune’s Platter… salmon, shark, lobster, oysters with a delicate glaze of wine, lime, caramel, and chili—it’s our house specialty.”

“Isn’t that a bit too snobby?” she asked the waiter.

“It’s exquisite and light,” he replied politely.

“Couscous with fresh vegetables as a side?”

“If you’d be so kind…” she said with a wink.

“I’ve never eaten lobster,” she told him when the waiter left.

“I’ve had it a few times… but I usually go for heavier meals. You never know how long you’ll have to last on it.”

“Do you mind that I ordered this?”

“Not at all… there’s no reason not to enjoy the meal, and maybe the couscous will be good too.”

“Sometimes you speak as formally as a book, and other times more casually… you seem very controlled. Sometimes you say ‘it’ll be good,’ and other times ‘it’ll be fine.’ I can’t tell what suits you more,” she said.

“You’re observant, and it seems very honest…”

“I know… it complicates things with men. They don’t know how quickly to react.”

“Well, no one openly flaunts their worst traits… so we act nice, smile, play the act…”

“Are you putting on an act with me?”

“You don’t really give me much time for that… I’m just trying not to stay silent. I enjoy talking to you. It’s not about trying to impress you… it just feels nice. Over the past year, this is probably the most sentences I’ve exchanged with anyone in a single day…”

“Do you enjoy being pitied?”

“Good question… does anyone generally enjoy being pitied? Why do people even behave that way?”

“I don’t want to talk about ‘people’… I want a clear answer from you. Do you like being pitied?” she interrupted him.

“I don’t know the feeling… I hardly interact with anyone.”

“Poor thing…”

“That’s not how I meant it. Last year, I did something, so I sentenced myself to three years of house arrest. No fun for a year.”

“Poor thing,” she repeated mockingly.

“If you knew me, you wouldn’t say that. It was a deserved punishment with the option for a conditional release.”

“What did you do?”

“I strayed too far from one of my rules. But whether I’ll tell you about it is still up for debate… I see you’re feeling much better now.”

“Maybe they put something in this tea…” she said, more relaxed.

“I’m feeling good today… almost wonderful… with a stranger.”

“Do I evoke the feeling of a man to you? I’m not even trying to be one right now.”

“Doesn’t seem like it…”

“Well, I can switch into ‘idiot mode’ if needed… that comes pretty naturally.”

“I wouldn’t have gone to lunch with an idiot… though…” she paused to reflect.

“Seems like we have plenty to talk about, doesn’t it?”

“Why don’t you shave?”

“Maybe to look more serious… older… or maybe I’m just lazy. A bit of everything.”

“You want to look older? No need… you already do,” she said, looking at him with those eyes of hers—heavy artillery.

“You like to provoke, don’t you?”

“No, I just want to get a good look at you… actually, it’s only now that I have the chance and courage to really take a look.”

“In that case, I’ll take the liberty of looking too… wouldn’t dare without permission… damn rules.”

“Are you scared?”

“Should I be?”

“Maybe of getting a fishbone stuck in your throat,” she said with clear double meaning.

“Sharks don’t have bones… but I didn’t know they had such beautiful eyes.”

“Are you trying to hit on me?”

“I just want another glass of wine…”

“You should probably have tea instead… maybe they really do put something in it…”

“I’ll take your advice… I’ll try the tea… but I might fall asleep before it even gets here.”

“Are you tired?”

“Not exactly… just… never mind.”

The waiter arrived with a trolley carrying something under a large chrome dome. “If I may…” he removed the napkin from her plate and then his. With a flourish, he lifted the dome to reveal a portion big enough for five people. Using silver tongs, he carefully served portions onto her plate. It looked like a scene straight out of a culinary magazine. On a side plate, he presented a beautifully colorful couscous.

“I must say, this looks absolutely stunning.”

“If I may…” the waiter moved to serve him.

“Thank you… but I’ll just try the couscous,” he said.

Both the waiter and she looked at him with surprise.

“I’ll bring the lobster separately.”

“Why won’t you try anything else?”

“I don’t want to ruin the taste of the side dish… I want to know what it tastes like. I’m curious… it’s not yours, but I’m looking forward to this one too.”

The waiter brought the lobster on a tray and, with professional elegance, placed it onto the lively canvas of the table.

“Anything else for the lady to drink?”
“…Thank you, I have something… and I don’t think it pairs well with this… I mean.”
“Wine?”
She glanced at him.
“That’s up to you.”

Meanwhile, the waiter took the bottle of red wine and topped off his glass.
“…And could I have tea, please… for me,” she added.

Strange company, the waiter thought. One with red wine and couscous, the other with tea and a luxury spread from the sea. And they’re still addressing each other formally.

“Enjoy your meal,” the waiter said, attempting to keep his tone free of irony.

“Could you please bring me a wine glass too?… Please,” she asked.

Within moments, he was back, filling her glass as well.

“A toast… tea and wine would be barbaric,” she said, lifting her glass.

“A toast to what?”
“To nothing, just because.”

“…Enjoy your meal. I didn’t even ask your name…”
“Lil… and you?”
“A.”
“A what?”
“The name… that’s what I’m called.”
“Is that a nickname? Nobody’s named A.”
“You see… don’t let it ruin your meal.”

“This fish is excellent… you should’ve ordered it. But I won’t try to convince you.”
“Maybe afterward… if the couscous isn’t edible,” he said, knowing full well he would compliment any dish, even if he disliked it. “Salmon? Looks like it’s cooked just right… and fresh… it’s easy to prepare it well,” he said, catching himself slipping into lecture mode again. Reverse gear, he thought.

“I’m not sure if I should try the shark… I’ll feel like a cannibal.”
“It makes a great soup,” he said, but immediately regretted it. Reverse gear.

“Soup?”
“Yes… it has to be good.”
“Has to be or is?… Have you even tried it?” she caught the inconsistency in his responses.

“I did… but it was so long ago… I only remember that I liked it.”
“You’re so peculiar…”
“I could say the same about you,” he said with a modest smile.

“The couscous isn’t bad,” he commented.
“It’s excellent… try this… it tastes like… I can’t think of anything to compare it to… like… I don’t know. You’re really not going to try it?”
“Not really, thank you.”

“Who are you?”
“No one… really.”
“What do you mean, ‘no one’?”
“I don’t know… just no one.”
“Are you upset?”
“Why?”
“You’re different from everyone I know… and yet so similar… a bit of everything… but in a strong concentration… like…” she searched for the right word, “…undiluted. You keep reminding me of someone, and I’ll figure out who.”

“I’ve never tried oysters,” she redirected the conversation.
“I’m curious to see how you like them,” he replied.
“They look weird.”
“They’re an acquired taste… I’m almost certain you won’t like them, but they’re survivable.”
“Survivable on oysters? …Like Robinson Crusoe?”

“Yes, nothing extravagant… just the only meal you have at your disposal.”
“Like a homeless person gorging on caviar?” – she chuckled at the image of someone sitting on a train station bench, delicately holding a small fork with dirty hands, savoring the taste of salted prenatal fish.
“If they manage to steal it… why not? A bit of a decadent thought… but not impossible. Unlike perfectly imaginable things that never happen…”
“Like what?”
“For example…” – he hesitated, wondering if he should share – “for example, picking someone up while hitchhiking and driving them exactly where they need to go. A pretty fresh example. Never thought I’d meet a girl who’d drive off with my car, wait for me at the destination, and then join me for lunch.”
“That’s an unimaginable example… how about a realistic one that just doesn’t happen?”
“Okay… like letting you pay for this lunch.”
“You think I can’t afford it? Right now?”
“That would offend me…”
“Maybe I want to offend you… just kidding.”
“That’s for you to know.”
“Will you pour me more wine?”
“Gladly… but be careful, it’s strong.”

She took a sip, glancing around the table. The platter remained mostly untouched. The lobster waited.
“If you don’t have some with me, I’m not talking to you anymore,” she teased, feeling the wine loosen her thoughts.
“You’d really do that?”
“Absolutely. You drag a girl to lunch and then poke around in the side dish.”
“And which piece would you recommend for me… to make it your way?”
“The shark…”

He raised his eyes from the bowl of couscous, waiting to see her reaction.
“Fine, I’ll try the shark,” he said, reaching for the Neptune platter.
“No imagination,” she said, feigning disappointment.
“You didn’t give me a chance to have any… I’m in the same boat as you. I know nothing about you… just that you’re possibly on the run, borrow cars, go by Lil, like Mediterranean cuisine, dislike strawberry juice, enjoy music, and have a sweet tooth. Imagination could weave quite the story from those hints… you could be anyone…”
“Anyone like who?”
“An escaped convict… a journalist… a bride…”
“A bride?”
“Why not? On your wedding day, you ran away… you had to…”
“Go on… that sounds believable,” – she set her fork down, intrigued.
“You shot your fiancé… he was still asleep… through the pillow, straight to the head…”
“Who are you?”
“Nobody… but you don’t believe me.”
“I’m leaving… give me the car keys?” – she stood up.
“They’re in your pocket…”
She reached into her pocket. There they were.
“I’m not afraid of you… or anyone.”
“You don’t have to fear me… I don’t need to lie. And it’s normal to trust liars more than those too ashamed to lie.”
“Why did you put the keys in my pocket?”
“I’m insufferable… I know that… it would’ve been too good if you stayed. But that doesn’t happen. So, to avoid complicating things – your confusion, your misunderstanding – you’re free to walk to the car now, take your bag… maybe even the car.”
“And you?”

“Me? … I’ll finish the couscous, drink the wine, leave the lobster to be wrapped, take it to the train station for some homeless guy… it’s not caviar, but maybe he’ll appreciate it… I’ll buy the lilies on the way, and maybe later go to the observatory…”

“Why don’t you at least insult me – or something… anything?”

“…And what would that change?”

“You’re weird… Really weird, take care” – and she left.

A black-and-white figure approached the table. “Any other wishes?”

“No, thank you. Actually, please wrap up that lobster for me… And I’ll pay.”

“Certainly, sir… will you be paying by card or cash?”

“By card.”

“I’ll be right back.”

---

On the way from the restaurant to the florist, he lit a cigarette. He didn’t have the courage to turn his head into the alley with the car. What if the car wasn’t there? He had taught himself not to ruin his mood unnecessarily. He had her phone number from that wonderful recipe, but she wouldn’t answer. He was sure of that.

“Do you have white lilies?” he asked the florist.

“We do… how many would you like?”

“For the last 100 bucks.”

“That will be a big bouquet.”

“She always wanted lilies… you can never buy more than the last of your money.”

“Wanted? … I’m sorry… it will be a sad bouquet.”

He remembered all her wishes.

---

“Bastard… what does he think of himself, … no, he’s an idiot, an old idiot,” she cursed inwardly as she walked to the car. Angrily, she got into the car. Damn.. I drank – she realized. What was he babbling about the police when they stop me? Didn’t he say I should shoot them? No… I should have shot him… at least in the knee. Arrogant… know-it-all… idiot. He even left his phone in the car. And it wasn’t locked. Her curiosity got the best of her, and she glanced at the SMS… nothing, no message. Only three calls in the history. The last was a call from her.

The phone book was empty. No photos. No songs or anything else. She dialed the first number… The number is not in service. The second number… doesn’t exist. She called herself… her song played in her pocket. I’ll return the chocolate to him… she tried to shove it back into the compartment, but something was blocking it. Damn… she saw that there was a paper or card wedged in. It was a photo. Her photo.

---

She was waking up. She couldn’t manage to open her eyes.
“Hello, get up or you’ll sleep through your life… come on. Miss, look at me. Hurry up. Nurse, give her another half a liter.”
“Where am I?” – she asked.
“Where? With us, of course…”
“What happened?”
“You were brought in by an ambulance…”
“Did I crash?”
“No, you were brought in by the fast response team… apparently you managed to call someone and say you fell in your kitchen at home. You got a small cut from some glass. That was nothing. But the hematoma on your brain might have been pressing a bit.”
She felt the bandages on her head. She looked around confusedly. She was lying alone in a hospital room. There was a bouquet of lilies on the table in a vase.
“Please, who are the flowers on the table from?”
“From no one… we put flowers in every room.”
She tried to remember anything… anything… but nothing. The first tear rolled down her cheek. “Please…”
“What’s wrong?” – the man in the white coat leaned towards her. “Does it hurt anywhere?”
“I don’t remember anything… not even my name…” – the salty waterfall of tears warmed and cooled her face.
“Don’t worry… it will pass… this happens. Don’t trouble yourself with it now. You’ll see. In a week, it’ll be fine,” – he comforted her.
“What is my name?”
“Lil… your name is Lil, but you should give your head some rest for now. It will take patience.”
“How long have I been here?”
“We let you sleep for a while” – “so you wouldn’t move too much,” – he smiled at her.
“Do you like Tom and Jerry?”
“Who is that?”
“Cartoon stories… cheerful tales… I’ll turn on the TV for you. Let’s start happily.”
“TV..?” – yes, she remembered – “I also have a TV…”
“Well, look, you’re starting to remember, it’ll be fine,” – he turned, switched on the TV, and used the remote to start the player. “You’ll like it, Lil, I’ll just turn it down a bit. If you need anything, press this button…” – he adjusted the intercom panel so she could reach it.
“Try lifting your hand… can you do it?”
Her hand was heavier than she expected. It surprised her. But she managed to lift it.
On the screen, the cat and mouse characters began running around. They were trying to do something to each other. He said it would be funny. It didn’t seem funny to her at all… nothing was funny. She decided to close her eyes. The man in the white coat left the room. In the office, he picked up the phone receiver and pulled out a slip of paper with a number… he dialed the tones into the keyboard.
“Hello… yes… we just woke her up… a moment ago, 17:25… No… she doesn’t remember anything, but it will pass… it’s been almost a week… she’ll be fine. No… I wouldn’t recommend that… it was a small thing… no problem. Goodbye,” – he said to someone on the phone. He hung up the receiver.

Let me know if you’d like me to continue or make any changes!

A tube led from her sleeve somewhere behind. She couldn’t turn her head. The end of the tube interested her more than those two idiots on the screen. She pressed the yellow button. No one responded and no one came. She pressed the button again… did he say yellow button? Second try… same result. She decided to hold the button for a while… The cat had just shoved its hand into the meat grinder. Hilarious.

The door opened and a nurse entered the room. A healthcare worker. “Do you need anything?” “Please… turn off the TV…” “Unfortunately… it’s part of the treatment program, I can only turn it down…” – with an absolutely indifferent tone. “Please… turn it off…” “I’ll talk to the attending doctor. Do you need anything else?” She shook her head and closed her eyes. She could feel the tears starting to well up again in her eyes. “If you need anything… press the button… your dinner will be brought to you shortly.” – she left. The mouse was hit with a rake several times. She felt each blow behind her. And the theme song of the new episode played again. Terrible.

She pressed the yellow button. The nurse entered the room very briskly. With her, the aroma of coffee and cigarettes. “I was just here. What do you need?” “My head hurts… terribly… from the TV.” “If you wouldn’t keep ringing, maybe I could have made it to the phone to talk to the doctor.” In my next life, I want to be a nurse and take care of you, all the Teletubbies episodes, you’d watch them many times. M.O.C.K.R.A.T – she thought. The thought calmed her.

The departing nurse passed by a small caregiver who brought the dinner. The aroma of coffee and cigarettes was replaced by the smell of apple strudel. She opened her eyes. They exchanged glances. “Already awake?” Nodding, signaling agreement, was much harder than indicating disagreement. “You have strudel and cocoa for dinner. I’ll help you eat.”

“I’ll try it myself.”
“Well, we’ll see how it goes… can you sit up? Do you need help?”
She tried to turn onto her side so she could lean more. Her leg hurt.
“Wait… slowly… we have the equipment for this.” – and she pressed one of the intercom buttons.
“We have a button for everything here.”
The bed began to change shape. From a bed to a chair. Young Sparky – the latest model.
“You didn’t expect to end up on an electric chair, did you?” – she tried to make her laugh with a joke.
“Definitely not… I thought this wouldn’t happen to me,” – she responded with a better mood.
The nurse attached a small table to the handrail. On the plate were two pieces of strudel and hot cocoa.
“Let’s see how you manage… do you want a fork?”
The sign of disagreement worked well. She picked up the first piece with her hand and brought it to her mouth.
Along the way, it fell apart and only a small piece with some filling remained in her fingers.
“It crumbles terribly…” – she tried to collect the fallen pieces on the tray.
“You should have a fork for this food,” – the nurse remarked with concern.
She remembered… remembered a piece of a movie… her memory was coming back. For this kind of deal, we should have shotguns… The whole movie and the songs from it came back to her. Thanks to the strudel.
“Thank you… you’re right, it needs a fork.”
With her hand and the tube, she pushed the crumbled pieces onto the fork. Something was missing. I can do better – her memory slowly returned. On the screen, a dog joined the mouse and the cat… start three knives.

The organizer of thoughts was somewhat chaotically opening drawers of memories. The mug with cocoa smelled. She almost spilled it.
“I’ll bring you a straw… do you want one?”
“Thank you… you don’t have to, you’re kind. I’m just… kind of a wreck.”
“Well, no wonder… when your hair grows back, you won’t even remember this…”
“I don’t have hair?” – she asked, frightened. She raised her hand to the bandages. Another tube. And hair.
“Just a little bit… it has to be done,” – she realized she didn’t know that.
“I’ll look like a convict… a convict on an electric chair.” I can’t go among people… to work… to the store… the list of places I wouldn’t dare go was growing. Faster than my hair. Everyone will stare at me… differently. Not how I’m used to… well, yeah… I won’t go anywhere, not even a step…
“I don’t think so… you’re not that type… everything looks good on you. That nurse, the one who was here, could wear anything and still look like a termite. She doesn’t like people. I don’t get why she does this job.”
“How long have I been here?” – she asked.
“I’m not exactly sure, I work shifts and you were already here on Monday. So not more than a week… everyone here sleeps for the first few days… like angels.”
“And they play Disney for everyone here?” – names started to come to her.
“Yeah… I can’t stand them even at Christmas…”
“That must be hell…”
“Hell is an understatement… so I don’t watch TV at home… So how was it?”
“Yeah… the strudel was a great idea in this condition.”
“Well, some of them here we feed only intravenously or through a tube… and some don’t even finish it… so you were lucky.”
“Could I take a look at the medical records?”
“I can’t promise anything… but let’s sweep up the crumbs, clean up, and I’ll be off to the next house” – a true professional.
“You won’t drink that cocoa, will you?”

“… not sweet.”
“Hospital… a hotel without stars,” – she commented as she cleared the plate and cup back onto the cart. “One more table, and it’s done. Do you still want to sit? With this button, you can turn it back into a bed.”
“I’ll manage… thank you so much. The TV, is there any way…?”
“If you want, just say it turned off by itself… okay?”
“You’re kind…”
“I don’t like fairy tales…” – she approached the TV and turned it off with the button on the bottom – “… and that’s it. The world on buttons. Want heat? Button. Want light? Button. I’m afraid one day, they’ll sew one on my head here at work too. So take care and see you in two days…”
“Thank you for everything.”
“It’s nothing, and shh…” – she motioned to the TV.
“Like a grave. I’m grateful.”
“You never know… you know how it is.”

The nurse with the cart left her room. In the hallway, she passed a paramedic pushing a bed with a covered body.
“He didn’t finish…” – she commented.

She looked around to see if there was a mirror in the room. I need to find out what I look like. No mirror. The button turned Sparky back into a bed. She stared at the ceiling, trying to remember how she got here. The door opened, and a termite peeked into the room. She pretended to be asleep. At least he slammed the door loudly. “I managed to call someone before I fell…” That sounds like a big nonsense. I didn’t fall anywhere. Before A called, I was in a good mood… Did he knock me out? Or… didn’t he? He just warned me to be careful. That something went wrong… Yeah, he said to get out of the apartment as fast as possible… Where did I fall, doctor? If only I could have called. She pressed the yellow button… she heard the termite leave… the door opened.

“The doctor doesn’t have time… I called him…”
“No… I asked the nurse for tea… maybe she forgot about me…”
“You were sleeping… I’ll call her…” – The termite projected its mood onto the sound of the door. I’ll ask her to help me disappear. She looked friendly.
Endless minutes passed… every time she heard footsteps approaching, she eagerly looked toward the door. I can’t stay here. Like a lobster on a plate. More footsteps passed her door. It’s true, the termite is mean, he gave up on me. If I didn’t have the tube in my head… I wouldn’t risk my head… the head protects the greatest friend… he always told me… The door opened. Her possible ally.

“I didn’t know you wanted tea… I must have misheard…”
“I don’t want tea, but I didn’t know how to call you.” – Sparky responded to the button’s impulse.
“Do you need anything? Is the termite misbehaving?”
“No, no… I remembered something. I didn’t fall at home… it’s not an injury. I need to get out of here… can you help me? I’m not safe here.”
“I don’t think there’s anything to worry about here…”
“You don’t understand… they’ll find me here… or at least the phone… can you lend it to me?”
“You should sleep… you have a drain in your head and it’s hard to run with that. If I’m right, they’ll take it out tomorrow.” – she tried to calm her down.
“And can you lend me the phone, please?”
She reached into her apron, took out the phone, and handed it to her. Quite a top-notch model, she thought.
“Is it locked?”
“We use the same key… I think…”
“I don’t understand…”
“Try it…”

She redialed the number. He picked up immediately.

“Hi. How is she? The doctor called me this afternoon,” he began quickly.

“It’s me.”

“Hi, Lil… how are you feeling? Are you better now?”

“Where am I? I don’t feel safe here. Come get me… I want to go home.”

“Don’t worry. Just stay calm. Nothing will happen to you there. If you’d listened to me earlier, it wouldn’t have come to this… just a few more days, and you’ll be home.”

“Why did I have to leave so suddenly?”

“Leave? You probably imagined it… sometimes the mind plays tricks. Oh, and by the way—your Cacharel arrived.”

“You’re crazy,” she smiled at the window.

“I’ve never denied that.”

“Bitter beginnings…”

“Bitter endings are still far away,” he replied.

“I’ll kill you,” she whispered playfully.

“I don’t doubt it.”

“I want to be home already.”

“Just a little longer…”

“And then we’ll have a beautiful evening… hide away in the bedroom, and I’ll have a surprise waiting for you…” she teased.

“What kind of surprise?”

“Go on,” she encouraged him with a smile, waiting for him to surprise her with his imagination.

“Continue…” – he was intrigued by her imagination.
“…until you have no chance of moving… I’ll turn on Tom and Jerry on the TV, crank up the volume, and leave for a week…”
“…you’re evil.”
“…I never claimed otherwise,” she laughed.

His sister appeared in the doorway, holding a teapot and her cup.
“I’ll have to go now… your sister’s here.”
“OK… I’ll come get you.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow, we’ll both know more.”
“Do you love me?”
“No.”
“I don’t love you either… bye,” she said, imagining the smile on his face. The call ended.

“That’s my mug… from eX.”
“From eX? How did you end up there? It’s a ghost town… no one lives there anymore.”
“That was years ago… a long story,” she said, taking the offered mug.
“From childhood? A few years ago, you must have been practically a kid…”
“Not really… it’s the first thing I got there. I stole it from a shop.”
“You stole it? Well, look at that…”
“It was a bet…”
“A bet? What kind?”
“Oh, just something silly… about your brother,” she added, wearing the expression of someone expecting a scolding.
“About my brother? Did he know?” – her eyebrows rose in surprise.
“Nope… not at all. You know him.”
“You’re just as crazy as he is…” – she decided not to ask further.

“Great tea… thank you,” she said, trying to change the topic.
“After a week here, everything will taste great to you.”

The termite peeked into the room. “You’re still here? … And you should be asleep. This isn’t a tea house!” – standing in the doorway, making it clear she wouldn’t leave until the gathering dissolved.
“Alright, we’re just finishing. I’ll leave the teapot within reach,” the nurse said.

“When’s your next shift?” Lil asked.
“Night shift tomorrow… I’ll definitely drop by,” – at the door, she exchanged a mutually disdainful glance with the termite.
“Tomorrow, I’ll report that you turned off the TV…” – the termite smirked.
“You’d have to prove it. Shooting blanks, aren’t you?” – the nurse returned with a calm, affectionate look.
“…Good night,” she said, turning to Lil.
“See you tomorrow,” Lil replied.

Sparky hummed a lullaby as the termite checked the IV, turned on Tom and Jerry, and left. Lil closed her eyes, hoping she’d fall asleep quickly. Instead of counting sheep crossing a narrow bridge over a stream one by one, she began shutting down her consciousness step by step, just as he had tried to teach her. “The brain is your buddy and the best travel agency for custom vacations,” he would say.

“I can’t feel my toes,” she informed her best friend.
She paused… is the brain male? Why would it be? What if it’s she-brain? The brain must be female… God is male, the brain is male, an idiot is male… that last one was easy to agree with. On the other hand, a male can be turned off, so it could be male. A turned-off man is a robot… a terminator. A woman can’t be turned off… a biological factory in continuous operation. A factory producing consciousness. A woman is consciousness, and the brain is male. Consciousness upgrades the brain’s abilities—his words. The software of the computer.

Once again… “I can’t feel my toes.”
“I can’t feel my feet… I can’t feel my ankles…”
“I can’t feel my calves…”
The brain obediently followed the commands of her consciousness.
“I can’t feel my knees…” – she physically felt herself shrinking.
“I can’t feel my thighs…”
“I can’t feel my entire lower body…” – her blood circulation slowed.

“I can’t feel the fingers on my right hand… that’s the future.”
“I can’t feel the fingers on my left hand… that’s the past.”
“I can’t feel either hand, all the way to the shoulders…”
“I can’t feel the center of my body… no pressure anywhere.”
“I can’t feel…”

Backup is complete.

She sat in the car again, in eXCity. She watched him extinguish his cigarette outside the entrance to the flower shop. Can’t you see I’m right here? she wanted to shout. Homme fatale.

She tossed her bag onto the back seat and moved to the passenger seat. I’ll wait here for you. Do I even know what to do next? Here? Her anger nearly brought her to tears. Of course, that’s exactly what I need—to have you find me here with smudged, red eyes. I can act too.

Deep, slow breaths. I know, don’t lecture me again, she heard his voice in her head.

How does this thing turn on? She fumbled with the car’s player, pressing random buttons until the screen lit up.

Malo, malo, malo… the car filled with the melody. She spotted him emerging from the shop, likely carrying a bouquet wrapped in paper. He headed toward the car. Come on, you malo…

He saw her sitting in the car and exhaled in relief. Should he act surprised? Or maintain a poker face? Was some kind of performance necessary? As the distance to the car shrank, the number of potential responses increased.

They watched each other through the glass. Tonto, tonto, tonto… the car added its own soundtrack to her side. She switched off the player.

The car door opened. No public spectacle. She’s being merciful… thank you.

His brain was working overtime. He noticed the box of chocolates back in the door compartment. Whatever you haven’t thought of by now, you won’t think of at all, he critiqued himself.

“I’m glad you didn’t leave… thank you,” he said—a line he hadn’t considered on his way to the car.

He sat down next to her.

“For you,” he said, tearing off the wrapping and handing her the bouquet.

“I wanted them for a coffin… not now.”

“How am I supposed to know when it’ll be the last time?”

“Then stop acting like you know everything… I look like a dead bride with these.”

“You’d be a beautiful bride.”

“There you go again.”

“You should’ve lifted the pillow and checked.”

A dead bride… with a dead groom… in a dead city.

From outside, the sound of Tom and Jerry drifted into the car.

“Oh God… no,” she muttered, burying her face in the lilies.

The phone on her bedside table went off, just like every workday.

Just a little longer—she didn’t want to let go of that confusing dream. The dreamcatcher by her bed remained completely still.

She closed her eyes, trying to find that warm spot on the pillow again.

Just a little more.

I can’t feel the center of my body…

A brief sensation of swaying.

Las Vegas. So many lights and colors. The rooftop of the parking structure still radiated heat. Caesar invited them to temptation.

“Prettier than during the day, isn’t it?” he turned to her.

“A completely different city… from up here, it looks like a postcard.”

“You won’t want to leave Vegas.”

“Nobody wants to leave vacation, but if we win tonight, I’ll marry you.”

“No, you won’t… I know you too well. But I accept the challenge. Until midnight?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself… we haven’t even placed a bet yet.”

“Blackjack?”

“Poker!”

“Alright, I’ll call Bill to reserve a table,” he said, reaching into his pocket for his phone. 7027856566. Notes for Bill. The phone rang briefly.

“Good evening, Caesar Palace Poker Room. How can I assist you?” a perfectly polite assistant answered.

“Good evening to you as well… may I speak with Mr. O’Connell?”

“Who should I say is calling, in case he asks?”

“Greymouse… he’ll know.”

“Hello, Mr. Greymouse. Are you looking to place a bet in your game?”

“No, no… no Russian roulette tonight. Just get me Bill.”

“One moment, please,” the sound of Chopin’s piano concerto played through the speaker.

“Hello, Adam? Can you hear me?” came a voice after six measures.

“Hey, Bill. How’s it going?”

“People are still going crazy as always… playing like their lives depend on it.”

“I want to play tonight too.”

“Should I open bets on Russian roulette?”

“Nope… poker.”

“Poker? You can’t play poker; you’re too easy to read.”

“Will there be a spot at a table?”

“Yeah… but you’ll lose. You’ve never won.”

“Maybe tonight will be different… it has to be. I want to marry this girl.”

“And you don’t have money for the wedding? You’re joking, right? I’ll front you.”

“I don’t need money… I need to win.”

“The big names are here tonight… you won’t win. Not even with those fish scales in your wallet.”

“I’ve got it covered… tonight, I’ve got a whole golden fish with me.”

“Aren’t you supposed to let the golden fish go if you want it to grant you something?”

“It’s free… just swimming alongside me.”

“If you say so… what time will you start playing?”

“Twenty minutes… we’re having a drink first.”

“Okay… I’ll announce you, but it’ll be Waterloo… count on it.”

“See you in twenty minutes… take care.”

They walked through the rooftop entrance to the elevator.

“You’re counting on scales?”

“I’m counting on you.”

“On shark scales? You’re crazy…”

“Better a fool than not to try… you know how stunning you’ll look in a wedding dress?”
“I don’t have a wedding dress…” she hesitated slightly. Talking about marriage was just a joke… she knew him far too well. Everything is just a game. Even life.
“Bill can arrange everything…”
“But in the morning, we’ll get divorced… from bed and board…”
“Now it’s you who’s getting ahead of yourself…”

The elevator gong signaled its arrival. Inside, a soft, damned tune played:
“It’s always tease – tease – tease
You’re happy when I’m on my knees, one day is fine and next is black…”

“Will tonight be black…?” he asked her.
“This indecision’s bugging me,
If you don’t want me, set me free…” she sang back in reply.

“And what if I actually lose? Not even a honeymoon?”
“Then it’s goodbye and a handkerchief…” she teased him. She loved seeing him cornered…

She watched as his mind switched to fight mode.
“You’re scared of losing, aren’t you? Don’t take it so seriously… it’s just a joke.”
“I’m calm… just considering that morning divorce… maybe I won’t sign it.”
“I’ll manage somehow…” she laughed. He was treating it as a game, thinking up scenarios. It’s fine, she reassured herself inwardly.

“Here’s how I see it… I win poker… we get married, then Russian roulette… and the rich widow goes home.”
“Finally, a normal plan… I’ve never seen Russian roulette live,” she replied, amused. He was still the same. Enthralled by the feasibility of an idea.

The elevator played her song. The same one as her phone. I overslept, she thought. Damn it.
Still half-asleep, she typed out a text message. I overslept. By the time she reached the bathroom, a reply had arrived.

Finally! 30 minutes. If you want to…
Ping. If I didn’t need to, I wouldn’t text you…
Ping. Okay, I’m on my way. If I have to, I’ll wait…

Still groggy, she stumbled over the bath mat. In slow motion, she tried to grab onto anything within reach. There was nothing. A hard crash followed as she hit the cabinet beneath the sink.

No dramatic or profound thought that one might expect when their life flashes before their eyes like a movie. Maybe it needed to play slower. Just a crash, and then silence.

A faint trickle of blood offered no warmth.

He led her through the alleys of the casino. The kingdom of gamblers and risk-takers. She still couldn’t comprehend how quickly, almost cold-bloodedly, he had won at poker. Three rounds, and it was over. Each time, he went all in.

The first hand, a royal flush. The second, a low card, but a straight. Against him, just two pairs and three queens. The third hand, a full house. A collection fit for kings: Ace of Hearts and, symbolically, the Ace of Spades. The chips changed hands. She had forgotten that she’d promised him something, and Bill shook his head in disbelief.

“I’m not letting you near the roulette table, just so we’re clear,” Bill announced.
“Not even my roulette?”
“You said something about a wedding, not a funeral.”

She felt a chill down her spine. She had thought his talk of Russian roulette was just macho bravado.

“Are you scared?” he asked her.
“A rich widow is never scared… didn’t you know?” she tried to maintain her poker face.
“You’d have to be a bride first.”
“Neither a bride nor a widow… this is all nonsense. Why didn’t you tell me you knew how to play cards?”
“I don’t. Maybe someone wanted me to win.”
“Bill? Were you in cahoots with Bill?”
“He doesn’t care who hands over his percentage.”
“How much did we win?”
“I have no idea… I wasn’t keeping track. I just wanted to win. A wedding could’ve been fun. We could’ve cut into a wedding hamburger…”
“I wanted one too… but a real one, not this fast-food version. You’re out of the game, you know that, right?”
“I know… you think I’m crazier than I really am.”
“That’s exactly what I’m unsure of.”
“Do you want me to drive you back to the hotel? Just drive, don’t worry.”
“And you?”
“I don’t know… but it’s Vegas. Nighttime Vegas. There’s always something to do.”
“Then drive me.”
“Sure, let’s go.”
“Do you mind?”
“Do you want me to lie?”
“Rather, yes.”
“Okay… I don’t mind. I’ve gotten used to it,” he smiled. “Wait, I almost forgot…” He reached into his pocket and handed her a small box, the kind they give you in jewelry stores.

“Di cosa si tratta?” she blurted out. “I don’t want it.”
“You won’t even look?”
“No. I won’t. You think you can buy me… you think that…”
“You’ll think that the whole time until you look. Until you let someone finish something.”
“I’ve let that happen before, and I’m done with it.”
“I always feel like I have to clean up everyone else’s messes, not just my own.”
“What’s in it?” she asked, reaching out her hand. “I’ll look later… alone.”

The box found its way to her pocket.

“Are you going to collect your winnings from Bill?” she emphasized his name.
“Maybe… I don’t know. They’re safer with him than in a bank.”
“I don’t understand you. Your endless poses… you’re not that rich.”

“I have everything I need… nothing more,”
“…another pose… there’s nothing wrong with having more money than you need.”
“Question of taste… do you think you can quench thirst with champagne? Water’s enough for me, at least… but we can have a drink, right?”
“I don’t feel like it,” she said, still thinking about the contents of the small box. It was too light to contain anything valuable.
“Okay… what floor did we park on?”
“The fourth… I think it was the fourth.”

The elevator played a track from the most infamous musician.
“Two against one,” he commented.
She gave him a puzzled look.
“Relax… I’ll drop you off and disappear.”
“How do you know I want you to disappear?”
“Just a guess… better to be pleasantly surprised than deeply disappointed.”
“You’re disappointed… I can tell already.”
“It was your idea. I like your ideas.”

The elevator doors opened to their destination. Humid air rushed into the cabin.
“It doesn’t usually rain in Nevada… run to the car,” he said. It was pouring.

She quickly closed the passenger door behind her. He started the car.
“To the hotel?”
“Yeah…”
“Whatever the lady wishes.”
“I’m not sure if being called ‘lady’ is a compliment.”
“Why? … There wasn’t anything… but whatever, you always interpret things your own way.”
“Just drive,” she ordered.
“Don’t yell at me all the time… see? We’re driving.”
“And don’t turn on the radio.”
“I can’t recall ever being the one to turn on the radio when you were within reach of it.”

She realized it was true. She always chose the music herself. He was always just the driver.
“Sorry… I don’t mean to be mean.”
“Then don’t be… relax. Picture this: you get to the hotel, take a shower, snuggle into the blankets, draw the curtains or blinds, maybe put on a movie…”
“I hate it when you narrate everything someone could do… you’ve got everyone’s lives mapped out in detail. You’d dictate the color of the curtains and the fabric of the blanket… you rob all the imagination. It’s insane.”
“Okay,” he said and fell silent.
“…and then you say okay and go quiet…”
“Would you like me to turn on some music? You know I like your picks.” Music’s all I’ve got left, girl… just the music.
“Got anything new?”
“For me, anything you randomly send is new… or at least I assume it’s for me. So, for you, probably nothing new.”

“How much further is it?” She felt like they’d been driving forever.
“We’re here… you’ve arrived.”

At night, the place looked different. He stopped in front of the entrance.
“I’m assuming you won’t mind if I don’t walk you inside.”
“You always assume correctly. You always know how to hurt politely.”
“So, do you want me to walk you in or not?”
“…or should you go,” she sang softly to him as a farewell.

As she passed the reception desk, she glanced back at the entrance. His car was already gone.

In her room, she turned on the TV, took a shower, and slipped into a robe. Wrapping her hair in a towel, she went to draw the curtains over the glass wall that served as a window with a view of nighttime Vegas. She sat on the edge of the bed and suddenly remembered the small box in the pocket of her pants.

Standing up, she headed back to the bathroom to retrieve the pants. On the TV, a live segment from Caesar’s Palace caught her attention. We were just there, she thought.

Returning to the edge of the bed, she watched the TV out of the corner of her eye. “We’ll bring you more details shortly,” the reporter said.

The small box was harder to open than she expected. Inside the padding, where a piece of jewelry would typically be, there was only a folded piece of paper.

She unfolded her “recipe,” still decorated with doodled flowers and her phone number. Below it, he had written:

Who is it..…

All photographs and texts are my own and are protected by copyright law. Their use is permitted only with my written consent.