Series 2: That Night, His Bodily Fluids Sprayed All Over Me

2006/2/8 12:07:20

II

Every evening is just an evening. Even the evening after 9/11—the sun still set, the city still darkened, the roads were still jammed. In this largest city of the north, in the best season, on the Third Ring Road that resembled a parking lot, the city polluted the wind, clamorous yet quiet. The city's intestines writhed. In a place far from the primal, language and glands excreted primally in the dimness.

Time did not belong to the city in the dimness. That five-star hotel with the mysterious name on the west side drooped in the murk, its flashing neon silently clamoring with convulsive light. People appeared and vanished like smoke between light and shadow. Faces swayed in unfamiliarity among the opulently tedious metallic interplay of light.

The telephone rang. The electromagnetic waves brought an unfamiliar voice:

"Are you there yet?"

"In the lobby!"

"Oh? I see you!"

He—tall, very masculine, exuding the bearing of a fifty-year-old man with unrestrained aplomb. The perfect man always requires a beast's physique beneath a professor's demeanor.

"It's always others waiting for me. Never me waiting for someone else. This time is truly an exception!"

The air trembled faintly, a wisp of alcohol hanging in the air.

(To be continued)