She got a rise out of more than the zipper and, if not for the sledgehammer pounding a death metal beat in his head, he might have enjoyed the show. He watched her step into her boots and lean over to fasten the zips. She pulled on jeans so tight he could read the tag in her underwear.
“We need to work on your idea of polite.” “I can be very accommodating when someone asks nicely.” “If you’d told me last night, I coulda done that for you.” Uncurling her legs, she bloomed into a dangerous flower of youthful attraction. “I’m not so hot on the pictures of dead people,” she said. He had a vague inclination that her name was Petal, but that was a guess at best. “No.” Jack dropped the spatula back into the sink, disturbing a nest of cockroaches. “You gonna cook me some eggs Jack?” She wore a tight-fitting top, a pair of panties and a lewd smile. Peeking out from rain clouds, the sun gave him the sly smile of a shop assistant in a lingerie department…
He pointed a partially melted spatula at the girl folded up on his couch holding his camera. His chest clenched as he reached for the closest weapon. “These are pretty good.” The voice burst through his thoughts with unexpected familiarity. Leaning against the sink, he wondered which of the bars between his apartment and work would offer a drink on credit. He didn’t need a weather report to tell him the day would be filled with bad weather and worse luck. Peeking out from rain clouds, the sun gave him the sly smile of a shop assistant in a lingerie department, promising to deliver embarrassment at a cost he couldn’t afford. The empty bottles in the kitchen were as accommodating as a Super 8 minibar and water from the tap looked like flat beer without tasting as pleasant. Last night’s cigarettes choked the back of his throat as his eyes screamed for the focus of a pre-breakfast bourbon.
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