Exhibit A: drinks with Two
at Lush Lounge while Otto
is cavorting with his colleagues.
He is to join the two of us
(Two and myself) at Sushi
Rika in a couple of hours,
so in the meantime Two
and I, the both of us, are
being forward in our
drinking. “That is one
choice cut,” he says, for
example, drooling
only a little bit. And I
agree, sipping and
mmm-ing. Who needs
a third wheel to feel
good (just because I’m
a dog doesn’t mean I
would like to have one
of my own, for example),
et cetera? But all I see
at the moment is the
big hole in everything
I look upon. Literally,
all the time, holes, gaps,
important stuff missing.
Where’d he go, for example?
“I’m not here,” I say.
“Will anyone be
joining you?” asks
Jean through a
tube sock or an
injection. She’s
been waiting for
all three of us at the
place that used to be
called Ginger’s Trois.
