My first indication it was him, was that he was the only one to look at the door when I entered. even the bartender didn’t seem to care, much less notice. He was dressed too nice for a place like this. These people barely had jobs, who else would be in a dump like this at two a.m. The eleven o’clock news was being rebroadcast on an old black and white TV, no news of an attack this evening. He sat at the bar along side a lady of negotiable affection, engrossed in his banter. She laughed and giggled as his continued. As I walked by, I looked at his hand resting on the bar. Swollen and knuckles scrapped. This one was the closest yet. I took a seat further down the bar, ordered a beer and let it sit. A moment later another person, a hulk of a man moved over and sat between the painted lady the animal and me. Happily the only sound he made was the grunt of his order. So I sat and listened, pretending to nurse my beer. When The words ‘Why don’t we go back to my place for a champagne. She pushed back against my grip, made an odd sound in her throat and then kissed me again, hard. I tasted blood and didn't know if it was mine or hers. Didn't care neither."Komma," she whispered, "come," pulling away, grabbing my hand and not caring if her heavy robe fell open. Up the front stairs she trotted, braids bouncing, hips swaying, pulling me along. I didn't take much persuading. At the end of the dark corridor, where the rough-hewed beams stood low, black with age, the big Swede pushed open a narrow door and tugged me into her dim room. I ducked my head to follow her. She leaned back to throw the bolt and kissed me again while I was bent over, letting me feel her body as she brushed past, rubbing a shoulder and hip against me before putting her cold mouth on mine and the tip of her tongue on my lips.Her board-paneled room felt like an old cistern though it smelled some better, more like leaf mold and dried flowers. When my eyes adjusted to the light, I saw worn curtains.
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