Pool_2

"Oh, don't bother now, it'll come out in the enquiry. But, do me one big favor?" "Which is?" "And please don't misunderstand me. I want to be totally clear and sincere and I mean this in the purest sense. So don't misconstrue what I have to say. You are shit on the shoe of medicine. Go fuck yourself." Mina was taking this in, nodding her head in repetitive approvals with her lower lip thrust way out, waving an overhead fist. Nobody out vitupers her man. Despite all of this, it was not the Fischbein incident that troubled Macaluso's lightening lit dreams. That weenie was annoying but not in the least unnerving. There was no mystery about petty people acting petty. No, that wasn't it. Falling into a tailspin through old and recent recollections, false photos, missing garbage, even distant things his sister said years ago, things about not putting too much soul into bonds of blood but rather bleeding for bonds of soul, weird shit like that had him flipping all over the bed throughout the night pulling the bed spreads in all directions. He was rambling, "not thicker, not thicker.." And Mina, denuded of sheets for the third time finally jabbed him and asked if he had ants in his pants, pulling the covers once again back to her side. Sheet flinging and other-worldly throaty groaning worsened until, finally, Mina got up and made a quick trip to the kitchen. Returning, "Here sweetie. Have some milk." She was rubbing his temples as he sipped only half awake and barely aware, then settled in her lap beneath her breasts. She startled at the unexpected amulet hanging around his neck and asked, sounding his depths, where he got the fig, but he was gone, way deep. Someone was beckoning him. Someone with answers. If only he could reach... if only....