21. The Abattoir
I'm sitting at this bar, watching the business men around me loosen their ties and settle in for the evening. I have a strong vodka drink in one hand and this book about rodents in the other. I try to look invested in the reading, but above the pages my eyes are scanning room for a victim. Sometimes I feel like a black widow spider, predatory and poisonous, lying in wait for my prey to pass by and tug on the strands of my delicately placed web. And sometimes I feel like a succubus, as if there are a certain number of wandering musicians I need to lull into sex with me in order to feed some sleepy demon just beneath my skin.
I feel evil and wrong and dirty, but I feel compelled and bored too, and those feelings are stronger And while Mike rests in our hotel room, dreaming of ways to get his next fix, I'm in front of a martini glass doing the same thing.
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