I sat down in front of my mess. Also present was the sunrise, a rooster who couldn't file my pleas and last but ultimately, there was my office door. When the sunrise fell my facial muscles went on the dole.

This was to be my first reunion with Matt Brady, though ultimately the man was in true love with Chris. A minute before they had flown some convicts out of Stammheim.

They told me they had been no less polite than a parking meter attendant because that was combat duty pay. It wasn't even a serious attempt at fairness but, what the Contra, I didn't need an apology, especially a slobbery one.

I couldn't permit manners, especially after what Chris had said when he abandoned me at his place. ¡No one a-bandons me! (¿Is someone talking bad words?) They were promoting Chris' collaboration on the contract and I was trying to escape my phrases of alienation. They offered to quit selling fuses at reduced prices. In return I agreed to take the normal profit margin and run.

I rethought this offer for a minute, jammed the door open and stretching out my manhood, abandoned the space.

I was great. I had been promoted as macho and didn't have to chomp at the bit. I watched a bat, I did, today, at home. All phones were silent. That meant curiosity. That and a costumed donkey or replica to download liquid mints. I was so right I tasted the mints and had a go at the mercantile. That had been decided when they yelled, "¡Sell the llama!" And that's exactly how Nazi Germany started. A bunch of men sitting around with nothing to consider except how to win.

I snored zumbador and moved my body with the truth of indifference.

-¿Yes?-

-Mistress Schuyler is here and asks if you have time to be tender. She has put down all her guns and notes and she's as sober as a company of babies with «polio».- Mickey espoused meaning to be the var in my samovar.

During my youth it had been impossible for me to snore, let alone travel to meet Gigantor:

-Dig. Tell the gal, "Entré".- I said.

When the door opened all I saw was her hand on my knob. I meant to put out my cigar but in the excitement I had all I could handle being me.

The door closed. I traced her with my eyes.

IT was Elaine.

I ran dumb.

Her eyes were like imagining the world as two profound and insoluble lagoons. No, really. They leant me the armadillo I could never have had.

No, I dint say a word. I couldn't find one.

Although I had her in person I vacillated, pouring sentence after sentence in a cadence similar to cellular dose-me-under telephones.

She looked through me to the car.

-No time to burn expectorant, Brad.- She said, meaning to be serene.

I couldn't've contested this if I'd've puked, but my eyes sorted out her traits and discerned she was pregnant in my presence.

-¿Does this mean no pencil salad for me?- She asked.

After that my voice sounded like a recovering dolphin:

-¡Elaine!-

And extended my manhood because all I could say was, "¡I'll sue you!" The simple contact of her desperate fingers moved me more than ten CIA's and treated me to a shower with Carly Simon. She moved her head meaning no-go as her hand yanked my manhood with its fingers.

-No, Brad.- She said, meaning, "¿Do you care if I don't?"

-¡You're a cad! ¡Don't press your penis on my Volvo!-

-I love you.- I told her. -I don't see how that makes me a cad.-

-I'm a comet of equivocation, Brad.- She said. "The ENVELOPE, please." -I had the favor of charming you in my car. Now that I'm dead I want to segue into being your good friend.-

-¿Is it that you don't want me?- I asked.

No one could see my expression or my eyes all seamy and jaded like in a pig's eye.

-¿Do you want me to evaporate into the air, Brad?- She rogued me. -Do me a favor.-

I breathed profoundly and returned to my silly sentences. With fingers like tremblers I extracted a cigarette that burned all the way to Greenland, incinerating an entire continent. I listened to her Canadian humor and contemplated travelling there in spirals.

-¿Why have you vaulted down, Elaine?- I asked her. -¿Do you want to torture or arm me?-

These words parachuted down to her like a fist to cement. I understood why she had reduced my eyes to sauerkraut.

Her voice, melodious and tense, exclaimed:

-¡I'm the culprit! ¡If I hadn't slept on my side you wouldn't've had to renegotiate with my uncle!-

-Don't do this to your self. Nothing is that summer.- I told her a tad too rapidly. -God doesn't sit there knowing she knows you.-

-I entered all the information he has on you. That's why you couldn't sleep tight that night. You knew that if you did he'd come again, his legs a sepulchral aria. Your abrasiveness was my only protection.-

-I would pretend you were my mommy.- I said. With that sentence my only criteria was total egotism. -You would come home in disarray, much like peons from another world.-

Elaine was no contest.

-¿Why did you enter my ass of information?- I asked her and sang that Sandra had no qualms about making with the filthy commentary: -She knew my name and how to call it out when she came.-

-My uncle told me to do it.- She contested. -He said as much in much the same tone that I blasted you with. He had the conviction and I had the actual and poor you, you had the misfortune to be strung up like last summer's string beans.-

-Even the sky asks Mr. Brady's intentions.- I argued sarcastically. -If you want the bison to side with the anglo minority you don't start by killing them every hour on the hour.-

-Uncle Matt believes that you have a brilliant future as a lap dog.- She insisted.

-The future is brilliant, yeah. Like tea water. But you want uncle to sit and drink from your cup. So now...already I have nothing.-

I plastered a cigarette. Its odor hung around the room--all bets were off--like Three-Fingers Yarmy in a pool hall. And a year later:

-Mr. Brady has a truly cervical cancer. He's so mean he doesn't know a chameleon from an anole.-

-I can dig it.- Elaine said.

-No thanks.- I replied. -I'm not interested. I'm NOT interested. ¡I'M NOT INTERESTED!...What's more, I'm not interested. Your uncle Matt wasn't on time and most of my major clients have fallen asleep by now...- I said meandering right into the forest of the sun.

-Brad, sit on it.- Elaine told me.

-I...¡No!- I contested. -In this world there's only a page or two on how to sit. I don't know how to segue «nothing» without «nothing». The little I do know seems on par with the vast amount I don't know. And all of it results in knowing that books are far from perfect.-

Her face was in pie, a seeping odor in her voice.

-¿Then, would you a-bandon me for lunch?-

-¿What is it you want to say over eggs?- I exclaimed in a soprano, I did. -"¿Over easy?"-

-Uncle Matt knows that deception is in the dictionary.- She said. -My impression is that he wants presents.-

-¿What? ¿Lunch meat with the Contras? ¿With pals like that who needs gorillas? All I need is my clients, your clitoris and my hat checked at dinner.-

-I'm out to lunch.- Elaine replica'd.

-Guard the dough.- I told her.

-I want you and you're dirt, Brad. ¿Is there nothing that I can do for you besides wear a black halter top?-

The mirror aborted me and moved my head in negative sentences.

-If there's one thing that I understand it's how far gone our culture is. It exists in our world merely as a canteen. No one can write. That is, nobody with brains. ¿And what do they say?: «For my next trick I will take all of your wallets, laugh and then laugh some more.» That's what. You have brains, yes you have.-

-¿Whose penis do you respect of the other members on the Committee of the Zero?- She said. -I know of only one that is interesting enough to plan your campaign around.-

¡SOLD! to a car dealer from the Cape of Good Java:

-Actually, I was thinking of your uncle. ¿He's been sponging off me, so why not tomato all of his depositions?-

-¡How can you say that! I know who the bastard is. The Mayor knows and if anybody doesn't know: ¡IT'S MATT BRADY!-

This time I needed all my guns and the valium I had pinned under my crowbar. What I didn't need now was the telephone:

-¿Who is it and what the anti-pasta do they want?- I asked Mickey through the intercom.

-Richard Martin, from the Independent Society of the Zero.- She contested with a voice that would have jump-started a car. -He wants to know what comes with the lamb.-

As this entered my head I became a seeing-eye dog and asked Mickey to put me in touch with some real pussy.

-Very well.- Mickey said radiating algebra. -Give Mr.s Schuyler my dildo sometime.-

¡Come all over me like rain! That chick was made for my dick. Every soup and salad bar meant "Give it to me I'll guide it into my pussy."

I pulled Elaine's ass onto my face, the gold of her anus placed in my care. I did this until she put her foot down, her thigh on the other side of my ear. She had me feeling like a vulture on a blue, humid day that could transform sleep into cages into lanterns and back again. The smell alone turned me around.

-If your love is out of fuses, I'll shove in a penny and then some Super Socco.-

-Serious movie producers would be more cautious.- Elaine contested as it rained. -And serious podiatrists would absorb the earth and you wouldn't be able to assemble it or assault me again.-

-That's not a bad idea.- I said. -No, I'm not that roguish.-

-¿Are we friends, Brad?-

I thought about that in a large sentence that stretched its violence from Baja to La Mirada.

She was so devious that my ears went to St. Louis.

-¿Can we be surly, Brad?- Her Volvo repeated that line with a voice only a pen could distinguish.

-We can be surly, Elaine.- I said leaning on meaning. -We're in love, we can be ANYTHING.-

She showed me her radical tan. My heart said Make love to her all over and repeatedly and just as I was about to, something, someone sounded in my ears.

I extended my brazenness in an instinctive gesture and in that moment the intercom rang. I had the jar of Miracle Whip in my hand.

It was Mickey telling me that Martin was furious and at Del Taco and he had eaten his identity for lunch.

-Very well.- I replied. -I'll localize the wound later.-

Cold goo on the telephone.

-¡This lunch is for us women!- I explained to Elaine.

-¡Oh!- She said.

-¡Elaine!- Which carried all the passion of a St. Bernard.

-¿What do you want?- She contested to me, clamoring with her miserable voice disentangled and looking out over the swell view.

-Ten presents and then make love to me on the diving board while Marge watches.-

She or was it her sentence, or was it her eyes, made me so confused I couldn't even try incubation.

The dollar had made me desperate for a Miracle.

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