�Tha� you, ain� it?� he accused me, which triggered thirty seconds of coughing and spluttering. I now had a fair notion as to what had brushed past my leg. No wonder it smelt as if I�d wandered into a back alley. And, sure enough, fresh from and having achieved its mission of scaring the living daylights out of me, the mangy mutt tottered towards its master, leaving a string of saliva in its wake and wagging its wiry tail in a satisfied sort of manner.
�Yeah, it�s me,� I told him crossly, placing the chair back on the dusty floor and using it in the manner intended rather than as a make-shift shield.
�Knew a see ya agin - cou� a bet everythin� a own on it (by the looks of it even if he had I�d be surprised if he was collecting anywhere twenty cents for his winnings),� he declared with a triumphant cackle, though eyeing me as if wondering whether I was edible.
Saving me from attempting to make conversation with the talking pile of grimy rags, I was grateful to hear the door open across from me. The lady wrestler pushed her way through the doorway. On her arms, which were the thickness of two fully grown pythons, she bore two discoloured plates on which sat what can only be described as the contents of a witches� cauldron. Bubbling to the point of irrupting she set one of the bowls in front of me and took the more dormant of the two across to my flea-ridden friend.
�Tha ya are, Willy,� she said almost kindly but didn�t quite manage it due to the reverberant snarl that constantly occupied her voice box.
I now understood why he enjoyed eating flies - particularly bluebottles; it provided sustenance to prolong his return to this place.
Fifteen minutes later, with a stomach that felt like it couldn�t decide which way to send the recently consumed meal - either up or down - I handed her a dollar, waited a moment, realised I wasn�t going to get any change with the don�t-even-think-about-it look I received off her and left, resisting the unremitting urge to vomit; I needed all my limbs intact and doing things like spurting a regurgitated version of the house special across the linoleum wasn�t the optimum way of keeping them that way.
Another fifteen minutes later and I had found the bus stop. A further fifteen minutes after that and I was on a bus heading back to San Francisco. The explanation of how I managed to get on a bus with only a dollar and three cents to my name is a different story altogether and I am already lagging behind in the narrating of this one so I shall conserve it for another time.
The bus jumped, jerked, bounced and shuddered as it set off. I couldn�t complain however, seeing as I�d earned a free ride.
�Driver! Driver!� someone from behind me shouted. �We�re heading in the wrong direction.�
The rest of the passengers starting yelling in agreement.
I was the only person on the bus who wasn�t joining in with them. I kept my head down, trying my best not to listen to the annoyed horde. As far as I was concerned we were heading in the right direction alright.
The sun was in the centre of the sky as we passed Jefferson Tract. Only another hour and I�d be back in my office - my only hope being that the remainder of the bottle of scotch was where I�d left it. My hands were beginning to shake due to alcohol deprivation.
The passengers cried out in terror as the bus veered almost into the oncoming lane of traffic.
I astonished even myself at the speed I ran, an hour - give or take - later, once I was off the bus and back in San Francisco. Angry calls of, �I�m going to report you to the bus company!� were aimed at me as I ran, unbuttoning the stolen blazer of the bus company�s uniform and tossing into an alley. Had it not been for the increasingly aggressive behaviour of the passengers then I could have cruised right up to the curb straight outside my office. As it was I now had six blocks to hike.
I took a deep breath of the atmosphere filled with man-made gases and fumes of decay. Clean, refreshing and wholesome, not like back who-knows-where with that disgusting mountain air, or those smelly pine trees.
In my line of work not only do your intuition, instinct, perception, those kinds of skills, need to be in top-notch order, but also your sneaking skills too - especially when you are continually behind with your rent and your office is on a higher floor than your landlord�s. My foot almost, but thankfully didn�t quite, touch on the step that sounded like an flatulent squirrel letting one rip. Extremely carefully I negotiated my way knowledgably around the squeaky floorboards as though it was a mind field. Letting my breath out I relaxed knowing that I had avoided the last of the sneaky squeakers without being detected. I set off up the stairs with a light heart, which suddenly stopped when the stair I stepped on let out a slow and painful EEEEAAAAAK. He must have had that one installed recently.
Immediately the door shot open. Had I never seen those bulging eyes with the scarlet tint, the flaring, fluffy nostrils and that hair so wild it suggested its proprietor was accustomed to sticking his fingers in electrical sockets, then I might have been petrified; as it was I was merely only scared.
�Val-en-tine!� he snarled, his Adam�s apple throbbing up and down his scrawny neck. �Two weeks rent you owe me!�
The doorway was letting out a smell that was something between the fragrance of boiling bananas and the alluring aroma of sulphur. It was plainly dinnertime for my landlord, Jack Meen (the name was just a coincidence).
�Two weeks?!� I feigned astonishment. �Are you sure it isn�t just the -�
�It�s two!� he said in a manner that suggested the dispute had been concluded.