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writing to just keep writing - unfinished
Oct. 12th, 2013 09:54 pm"Genki?" he asked to the empty room. He hadn't seen her for several hours -- a prostitute he hired from a small square ad in the back of a free local newspaper: Tokyo Dream Spa Massage in red chopsocky letters, doe-eyed faces of Asian women, clip-art bamboo and lotus flowers and a phone number promising "Eastern Dream Girls" in under one hour, to all areas of the city.
When she arrived he was disappointed. She was short, stocky, cross-eyed and bore a weird resemblance to a woman in accounting from his office. It was hardly a fantasy, but he was in town after a sales meeting boring enough to make him near-suicidal, and he figured a blowjob would be better than going back to drinking. It would start at the minibar and end with him waking up in a bathrobe on the lobby floor by the concierge (if he was lucky) or naked and on the sidewalk by the police (if he was not). The inevitable drunken disasters were always good war stories years later, but the 12-step kool-aid and the people in recovery" thanking god and hugging and saying the sayings were unbearable. It works if you work it so work it your worth it. If it worked for him it was only because he hated the other alcoholics so much. Being sober just meant the end of meetings, and that was enough to keep him away from the bottle.
So it alarmed him a bit when the woman -- who introduced herself with an enthusiastic firm handshake and stated her name like a question mark Gen-KI? -- entered the room and began guzzling vodka out of a bottle from her purse. He tried to make small talk but she just said, "Two hundred dollars, Okay?" and pointed to the night table.
When she arrived he was disappointed. She was short, stocky, cross-eyed and bore a weird resemblance to a woman in accounting from his office. It was hardly a fantasy, but he was in town after a sales meeting boring enough to make him near-suicidal, and he figured a blowjob would be better than going back to drinking. It would start at the minibar and end with him waking up in a bathrobe on the lobby floor by the concierge (if he was lucky) or naked and on the sidewalk by the police (if he was not). The inevitable drunken disasters were always good war stories years later, but the 12-step kool-aid and the people in recovery" thanking god and hugging and saying the sayings were unbearable. It works if you work it so work it your worth it. If it worked for him it was only because he hated the other alcoholics so much. Being sober just meant the end of meetings, and that was enough to keep him away from the bottle.
So it alarmed him a bit when the woman -- who introduced herself with an enthusiastic firm handshake and stated her name like a question mark Gen-KI? -- entered the room and began guzzling vodka out of a bottle from her purse. He tried to make small talk but she just said, "Two hundred dollars, Okay?" and pointed to the night table.
