8.

Marty woke up the next day feeling like his brain was bare; a swept and cleaned spotless apartment, nothing in it at all, the thoughts in his head having no reality or substance. It seemed the entire night before was either a single moment, or a confused pattern of instants that did not stand in relation as any being before or after any other.

“Fucking acid,” he said as he sat later at the computer staring helplessly at his novel. He could not even edit, since this required him to read and comprehend; and as to writing, that was impossible. The hooker was not on the couch and he hoped she’d took up and left.

He went to make some coffee and the thought of food was welcome to him, till he opened the refrigerator and found the bacon brown; the eggs, well, he could smell them, and the milk he dared not even to sniff. He shut the refrigerator, nauseous, and hoped Alex would turn in the paperwork for his unemployment today.

It was around noon when the electricity turned off. Marty had been brewing his third cup of coffee when the percolator stopped working and the lights went out, dimming everything, daytime shadows pushing out into every corner of the apartment.

Marty despaired for a few moments and then decided to drink the half-cup of coffee that had been brewed before the electricity went out.

A few moments later Alex came out of his room, obviously concerned.

“That hooker is gone, right?” said Marty.

“I’ve got to ask you something,” said Alex.

“She’s gone, right?”

“Look--I’ve got to show you something.”

In the hall Alex dropped his pants and took out his cock, and showed Marty a little bubbly ball of flesh on his scrotum.

“Jesus,” said Marty; “didn’t you use a condom?”

“Yes I did,” said Alex--“I guess that’s why it’s on my nuts. What is it?”

“It’s a fucking wart. You’ve got to see a doctor.”

“A doctor? I don’t have any doctor. Am I just supposed to look one up in the phone book?”

“You’ve got to get that taken care of,” said Marty.

“Aw fuck! You know I don’t have insurance or money for that shit. Fuck! Why did you let me do something that fucking stupid?”

“Let you? Am I your mother?”

“Fuck!” said Alex. “I’ll pick up some wart shit at the drugstore.”

“Genital warts is something different,” said Marty. “You need to see a doctor.”

“Fuck!”

Alex went sullenly back into his bedroom.

Marty sat through the next thirty minutes trying to read a paper he’d stolen from in front of a neighbor’s door. He’d started to experience an emotional withdrawal, having no TV to look at. Smoking pot only made it worse, and before he’d stolen the paper he’d paced back and forth nervously, unable to either endure this discomfort or do anything but endure it. Now he sat glancing at sentence after sentence of the newspaper, his mind a scrambled mess, marijuana burnout setting in. He would read a sentence at one article and perhaps half of the next sentence before turning the page in hopes of finding an article that could interest him.

Now he heard Alex’s bedsprings squeaking, and the realization hit him that the hooker was still here. Alex was a stupid fuck, he thought; and though he got genital warts he probably just missed a half-dozen other things, which he was presently about to catch.

Alex came out of his room again an hour later.

“We’ve got to kick that bitch out,” said Marty. “Don’t you know how she got in here?”

“You invited her,” said Alex.

“No--she broke in.” He pointed to the broken window by the door. “See that? She broke in.”

“It’s not so simple,” said Alex. “She’s taken up residence. There’s a whole eviction process we’ve got to go through now. Courts and shit.”

“Eviction? This is our fucking--”

“She’s taken up residence,” repeated Alex.

“Did she tell you that shit?” asked Marty.

Alex merely filled the filter basket with fresh coffee then poured water into the percolator. “She’s a resident--squatters establish themselves then you got to evict them through court like any tenant. It’s the law.”

He flipped on the percolator, then when the little red light didn’t come on flipped it back and forth again and again.

“Electricity’s out,” said Marty.

Alex went on flipping it back and forth till in despair he said, “What the fuck!” and went over to the TV remote to press the power button again and again in vain. “What the fuck!”