The Trickster Diaries/Chapter 9
I’m the kind of guy who would live after stepping out in front of a bus traveling at 80 mph, or after jumping off a 20 story building. I just know I am, same way I know I’m not always perfectly logical in determining how cause and effect will play out, then choosing accordingly, because, in a way, it doesn’t matter.
So when Mel so theatrically asked if she could give me a ride somewhere—her shoulders suddenly relaxing, wavy parted platinum blonde hair and tits bouncing simultaneously—it seemed like a good idea, like an organic development pushing the play to the extreme edges of the course it was meant to follow.
Me: Uh, yeah. Why not.
Down the street, before the 82 loop, Mel half chirped, half chanted: “… that was pretending, before wasn’t, now is, no, isn’t, is it? Are we? God we smell like sex. She’s going to fucking hate me. Wait. She could fucking ruin my career!”
Me: Mel, pull over. I’m driving. We’re just going to the liquor mart down the road, so have everything figured out by the time we get back, yeah?
Things would go the way things would go. I was surprised, though—I really didn’t know Michele well enough to even guess at how she’d react beyond how she’d already reacted.
Mel went home.
Michele’s bedroom door was closed.
By 4AM I’d kicked out a new first chapter and put everything on to floppy. The Kinko’s downtown was open. The coffeehouse next door opened at 5.
By 7 I’d arranged for a guy to get me jumpstarted.
By 9, west—back to a fresh unknown.