I opened another bottle and sat down at the keys.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I nod. I have\nstarted now. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
I am in a\nsingle room on the third floor. Magnolia walls. Magnolia carpet. A small\nbathroom. A single bed. A desk. And this chair. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
From the\nhallway, I hear female laughter and the passing click-clack-click-clack of\ntheir stiletto heels. Up on the fifth floor, the \u2018Social Bar Club\u2019 must have\nnow closed for the night. It must have. I cannot hear that dwarf\u2019s voice on the\nmicrophone. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
I am being\nserious. He was there when I was at the club earlier. Sat in my own booth. Two\nsmall green leather sofas. I played dice with a lady named Lucky. That\u2019s right.\nA very bad name. I didn\u2019t stand a chance. I was up against a pro. And I was\ndrunk inside of thirty minutes. Cracking up at the savage state of me, Lucky\nslapped her hand on my upper thigh. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cLook at you,\nbrother,\u201d she laughed, \u201cYou\u2019d think you\u2019d never played dice before. Always\nlosing. Very bad. Always lying. Terrible.\u201d She laughed, \u201cI can see why you are\nsitting here on your own.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cReally?\u201d I\nnodded \u2013 raising an eyebrow in her\ndirection \u2013 unsure of how much Lucky knew about my situation. \u201cWhat do you mean\nby that?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Lucky stroked\nme on the shoulder. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cDon\u2019t worry,\nbrother. It\u2019s alright. Me and the other girls, we all know you from the TV. And\nwe all know that this is all very unfair on you\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She looked at\nme but I am not there now.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Cut to my dim\nlit single room. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
The sound of a\ndrunken argument in the room above me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The woman is\nfurious. She doesn\u2019t like where her husband\u2019s been. And she hates the state\nhe\u2019s in. It\u2019s happening too often. She wants him to shower. But he tells her \u2013\nin no uncertain terms \u2013 that he doesn\u2019t want to. He is a dragon. He is a \u2013\nsomething-or-other \u2013 I don\u2019t know every word \u2013 And he is also something else \u2013\nbut I cannot find the word for that either. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cFuck off\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I pick up my\ncigarettes and shake my head. The argument grows louder. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Yes. That\u2019s\nright. I could go out. But it is 3 AM. And I don\u2019t feel like eating any\nbarbecue. Not with the cameras on me. Not now I have become an unwanted\ncelebrity. Can\u2019t forget that \u201cbrother\u201d. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
No. I can\u2019t\nforget yesterday morning. It will not leave my thoughts. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
6 AM. The\nfuckers. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Nearly smashed\nup half the empty bottles lying on the floor. Not that they cared, of course.\nThe local media with their big ass cameras and their bloody smart phones.\nShoving them in my face and throwing questions at me. The moment I was stupid\nenough to open the door to my room. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cBrother, when\nyou met her, did you know she was married?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cBrother, do\nyou have any comment?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
No. I do not.\nI have three packets of cigarettes. An ashtray. Two litres of cheap vodka. And\nin the drawer beneath the keys, I now have a one-way ticket to the country next\ndoor. I don\u2019t know how I\u2019m going to use it though. Her husband is a high-ranked\nmember of the local military. So it would be safer to assume that he has\ncontacts at the airport.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That\u2019s why an\nexplanation is not important now. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Plans and\ndecisions need to be made. And that is why \u2013 blah blah blah \u2013 I cannot\nconcentrate on anything. And that is why I keep on giving out excuses. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
My apologies.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I didn\u2019t even\ntell you about the dwarf and his gold-lam\u00e9 suit.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I\u2019m sorry.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Maybe next\ntime. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Right now \u2013 I\nhear shouting in the corridor <\/p>\n\n\n\n
I opened another bottle and sat down at the keys. I nod. I have started now. I am in a single room on the third floor. Magnolia walls. Magnolia carpet. A small bathroom. A single bed. A desk. And this chair. From the hallway, I hear female laughter and the passing click-clack-click-clack of their stiletto … Read More<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"nf_dc_page":"","om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[3],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1959","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fiction"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/pa867U-vB","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/ruescribe\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1959","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/ruescribe\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/ruescribe\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/ruescribe\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/ruescribe\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1959"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/ruescribe\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1959\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1962,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/ruescribe\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1959\/revisions\/1962"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/ruescribe\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1959"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/ruescribe\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1959"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/ruescribe\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1959"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
J H Martin is from London, England but has no fixed abode. His writing has appeared in a number of places in Asia, Europe and the Americas. Website: acoatforamonkey.wordpress.com<\/a> <\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"