A light groan escaped the lips of Larry Clarke as his morning alarm disturbed his deep slumber. He instinctively glanced at the clock. 8 a.m. Did I really manage four hours last night?
Larry believed he wasn't privileged enough to enjoy the luxury of a normal sleeping schedule. Judging by his own standards, four hours was indeed a vast improvement and break from the norm. He rolled back to his comfortable, sideways sleeping position, and turned toward the center of the bed, where his glossy eyes took notice of the girl with whom he slept.
Her name was "Sasha;" Or at least it was the name she had chosen to give him the night before. Juggling with both pride and indifference in his hands, Larry gazed upon the naked, lithe body of his blonde-haired conquest. His smile, though deep, shortened when he pulled the covers over her exposed, heaving chest. He stood and admitted to himself that work would soon be back in session.
"Who am I kidding?" he muttered to himself. Work for Larry was always in session. Words such as vacation or naps rarely entered his vocabulary.
Sasha stirred, as if prisoner in her self-enchanted dream, no doubt.
This was Larry's apartment: One room with a foldout bed and a meager 10 by 5 bathroom to spare. Aside from his makeshift bed, lay his three tools upon which his day relied. They sat atop his miniature dark wood bed table: Within his wallet contained his ID and PI license, his Gene Tech comm. receiver in the form of a small ear plug, and his Glock 35 series 4; the last of these items he was very proud. An ordinance had been passed just the week after he had gotten it registered for another two years. The new law had banned all handheld firearms of a Glock series from further registration. Something about the Kenshaw Robberies, which saw the local BC police outgunned by the assailants. This place, it wasn't much, but it was his. And within his home he was like any man, a master of his own domain and any fling or trick that chose to follow him from the bar was a foreigner to that domain despite the usual late-night company of the carnal kind. The next morning would have him shower the previous night's memories away, before leaving a cab fare for the female guest. It was his own little foreign policy.
He retreated to his bathroom. It was plain enough to make a 5th century Spartan warrior's living quarters look fitting for a king. Turning the knob slowly, the warm comforts of water exited from the shower head to greet his skin, and he reminisced the previous mornings' routine bliss. However, this simple pleasure did little to take his mind off the task at hand.
"Never mix alcohol and work..." Last night he learned all too well. When he left the bathroom to dry himself, he gazed upon the still sleeping girl on the bed. He couldn't leave her cab fare. He couldn't tell her to leave. Larry scratched his head realizing that he couldn't even drag her out, kicking and screaming.
She told him her name was Sasha.
This was the first time he ever slept with the client.
(c) Jonathan Higgins 2011 all rights reserved
(Prelude to about 13 to 15 pieces. I want to put some of these ideas on a bit of a dryrun, or at least get closer to those thoughts and see if I can get them working. At some point you have to take all the half ass imaginative notions and word doc. files full of unintelligible stream-of-consciousness gibberish and try to get them up off their feet into something live. You need to get it out on top of something concrete. Most of this is probably going to be crap. But you're not paying for it, so screw it. In 13 - 15 pieces -- plus this bit -- I'm trying to get something out in front of me where I can visualize it as I should. What better way than the writer to become the reader, so to speak? So this is me saying that I hope you get the opportunity to look at it and become the reader too.)
Larry believed he wasn't privileged enough to enjoy the luxury of a normal sleeping schedule. Judging by his own standards, four hours was indeed a vast improvement and break from the norm. He rolled back to his comfortable, sideways sleeping position, and turned toward the center of the bed, where his glossy eyes took notice of the girl with whom he slept.
Her name was "Sasha;" Or at least it was the name she had chosen to give him the night before. Juggling with both pride and indifference in his hands, Larry gazed upon the naked, lithe body of his blonde-haired conquest. His smile, though deep, shortened when he pulled the covers over her exposed, heaving chest. He stood and admitted to himself that work would soon be back in session.
"Who am I kidding?" he muttered to himself. Work for Larry was always in session. Words such as vacation or naps rarely entered his vocabulary.
Sasha stirred, as if prisoner in her self-enchanted dream, no doubt.
This was Larry's apartment: One room with a foldout bed and a meager 10 by 5 bathroom to spare. Aside from his makeshift bed, lay his three tools upon which his day relied. They sat atop his miniature dark wood bed table: Within his wallet contained his ID and PI license, his Gene Tech comm. receiver in the form of a small ear plug, and his Glock 35 series 4; the last of these items he was very proud. An ordinance had been passed just the week after he had gotten it registered for another two years. The new law had banned all handheld firearms of a Glock series from further registration. Something about the Kenshaw Robberies, which saw the local BC police outgunned by the assailants. This place, it wasn't much, but it was his. And within his home he was like any man, a master of his own domain and any fling or trick that chose to follow him from the bar was a foreigner to that domain despite the usual late-night company of the carnal kind. The next morning would have him shower the previous night's memories away, before leaving a cab fare for the female guest. It was his own little foreign policy.
He retreated to his bathroom. It was plain enough to make a 5th century Spartan warrior's living quarters look fitting for a king. Turning the knob slowly, the warm comforts of water exited from the shower head to greet his skin, and he reminisced the previous mornings' routine bliss. However, this simple pleasure did little to take his mind off the task at hand.
"Never mix alcohol and work..." Last night he learned all too well. When he left the bathroom to dry himself, he gazed upon the still sleeping girl on the bed. He couldn't leave her cab fare. He couldn't tell her to leave. Larry scratched his head realizing that he couldn't even drag her out, kicking and screaming.
She told him her name was Sasha.
This was the first time he ever slept with the client.
(c) Jonathan Higgins 2011 all rights reserved
(Prelude to about 13 to 15 pieces. I want to put some of these ideas on a bit of a dryrun, or at least get closer to those thoughts and see if I can get them working. At some point you have to take all the half ass imaginative notions and word doc. files full of unintelligible stream-of-consciousness gibberish and try to get them up off their feet into something live. You need to get it out on top of something concrete. Most of this is probably going to be crap. But you're not paying for it, so screw it. In 13 - 15 pieces -- plus this bit -- I'm trying to get something out in front of me where I can visualize it as I should. What better way than the writer to become the reader, so to speak? So this is me saying that I hope you get the opportunity to look at it and become the reader too.)
Awesome! I love this genre.
ReplyDeletelove it! more please =]
ReplyDelete