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allfeaturedhaikupoemsongex corpseflashstorynovella
excorpse
published
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A stranger in a fedora and an olive green pinstripe suit walks up to the table. Uninvited. The cut of the suit is peculiar. Retro. Ill-fitting. He pushes a roll of microfiche across the table towards me.
I look at the small flat sheet of photographic film and draw a blank. I look up and tell the stranger I am not interested. He sits down. Uninvited. Removing his fedora he orders two shots of Jack Daniel's and says in a barely audible monotone: "Trust me, you're going to need one".
He sits in silence staring at me with dark eyes under the smoke shrouded yellow lights until the barkeep places a tray bearing two small glasses sparkling with amber fluid next to the microfiche. He motions for me to drink. I ask why he isn't drinking.

"I was thinking you might need two," he says, leaning back.
I did and dispatch both shots with alacrity. The burn steadies me and I meet his gaze.
"Is this going to take very long? I have to go and see a girl about an ostrich."
"An ostrich?" He's doubtful. "It's nothing like an elephant, but I respect your choice." He stirs, his dreaming eyes calling out to mine. A raised finger, flicked, brings more shot glasses. "How much of a hurry are you in? I'm so very thirsty."

I tell him the ostrich can wait.
And it did...for hours. I pulled myself up on my elbow and immediately regretted it. I don't know what were in those shots, but I think it pickled my brain. My dozing friend was no where to be found...and neither was my wallet. I hadn't realized I was so gullible.
I mean, that he had resolved the Riemann hypothesis in one sitting seemed entirely plausible to me at that stage in the game. But truth be told I knew just as much about non-trivial zeros as I did about women at that point. Neither as it turns out have real part 1/2.
Genius or not, I still had a bad feeling about this guy! His motivations seemed all implausible, and his very God darn word was infatuated by a narcissistic self-orgasmic look on his eyes. And this Nubian vampire math prick, is the one my ex-wife chose to bring home every night? Now I'm seriously pissed off! It didn't help I still lived with my ex-wife. Now I know why the bed shook so. She said it was night terrors. Now I know better. Next time I'm turning over and watching!
My shape-shifting marriage triangle didn't helped me getting over my daemons. It just marked my begging of world-orientated rage. Now, it takes just a look from a stranger to get me ready to jump at anybody's throat. My therapist suggested me to have prescriptive-pot. I'll try anything, really. Why the hell not?