I fought off the grip of the sleeping pills as the plane descended under the heavy smog and into the alien world. I chartered two whores in a dream state and observed them like a petrified schoolteacher. We owned no language and communication was a charade. We shared professional sex but afterward they would not leave.
I gave them handfuls of purple notes and they stared from the expensive hotel bed with wide dark eyes, yawning and wiping their mouths and vaginas on the pillows and sheets. Perhaps it was their custom to stay. One snored and the other jimmied her legs the entire night.
Consequently, I was exhausted the next morning (it might have been two days time, jet leg, pharmaceuticals, created intense confusion). I remember checking the newspapers and reading about oil spills, nuclear meltdowns, hurricanes, power outages, riots, heat waves, floods, violence, genocide, political sabotage, assassinations, and professional sports lockouts.
The whores stayed until the money was gone—three days, a week, impossible to tell—and it was great. I skipped meetings with a solar executive, a wind farmer, a diamond mogul, a developer of high-end malls and heard no protest stateside. I stayed in the hotel with the curtains closed until each of the small medicine bottles was completely empty. It could be the apocalypse. Aren't we all waiting?
