Last night
Last night, in a dream, I was locked into a warehouse of caged lions. I know it was a dream because last night I was at my home, where no lions live. I know they were lions because the person who locked me into the warehouse said, “if you can survive the lions’ attack, you may join our secret society.” I also know that these animals were lions because the person who locked me in probably doesn’t have such a hold on metaphor to mean “creatures of my past will visit you in corporeal form, and these creatures are actually golden-haired dogs, but since they represent childhood demons, you will perceive them as the great cats of the Serengeti.” Finally, I am an adult, so I know what a mother-fucking man-eating beast is when I see it.
Warehouses come in all forms: some filled with industrial machinery, some just large areas of space where lower goods accumulate, like babies in a crib, or hospitals, or Slovakia. Some are rather organized and clean, like a department store or the human pancreas. This warehouse was clean, like a human organ beginning with “p.”
My survival skills are excellent, but I am no covert agent or Eagle Scout. I am crafty and I consume action movies with an eye to improve my proficiency with weapons. That means when a character breaks an opponent’s arm or nose, I think very carefully about the steps necessary to execute that action. I will even leave the theater to perform a dry-run of the move I just witnessed. This is a conviction for me. So I believe I can survive large mammals and cats when confronted with them in close proximity. And I did.
Without much unnecessary detail, I released tons of helium emissions into the space, after securing proper masking equipment for myself, until the ambient air reeked of helium poisoning. Helium facilities are quite clean and orderly. I’ve fielded many calls since that day concerning how helium smells in great quantities. Of course, helium is an odorless substance, unless released in great quantities, in which case it smells like a wet balloon, fresh from the package.
Within 45 minutes, 19 gorgeous, golden beasts lie asphyxiated, but calm, throughout the building. When my jailer opened the door the next day, I stood atop the largest cat, one foot up, like an explorer throwing his boot on Plymouth Rock. Or like Cortes, tossing some Spanish or Portuguese musk all over the Central American women, with aplomb. I may have been squinting a bit, not because of the bright light released upon my handiwork, but really as a way of saying, “woah there chief, don’t ask me any questions right away or give me a high five, because I am basically so erect from my multiple assassinations that I need a few minutes to just reflect.” Well, my jailer was most displeased.
As part of the society I was about to join by demonstrating my loyalty through exposure to mortal harm, I would have significant responsibilities in facilitating the transfer of illicit and exotic cargo. News to me. I thought I was joining a group of para-military mercenaries, hired to do this or that nefarious work in Paraguay for corporate and state clients. So when I was directly responsible for the destruction of product worth $1.3 million, the top brass had some questions.
But I didn’t get to hear those questions because I immediately began to imagine the girl I dated my last night in Rome four years ago, who was from Paraguay. I was living in Rome for the summer after a term at Oxford University. I wrote 24 eight-page papers in a period of 16 weeks while at Oxford, so during that summer in Rome all I wanted to do was drink, sleep, and possibly sleep with many women.
I was 21. The closest I ever got to sleeping with many women that summer was sharing a bed with a 29 year old from Norway who stated at the beginning of the night, “I will flirt with you tonight, but you will not have my body.” They are very direct that way. I didn’t even get to place my arm around her stomach, even though we slept front to back. It was an enragingly erotic experience, if I didn’t pass out within 14 seconds of lying down. And she wore my t-shirt from the movie Star Trek: IV. So I win.
The girl from Paraguay grabbed my leg under the table, while her brother talked about soccer on the other side of the table and frequently asked me if people liked to exercise in America. She was 17, and perhaps by chance or by scheming, made it perfectly known that she was a virgin, once removed.
In every story she told, she used the word love. Then she looked at me. And then I looked at her brother who asked, “but if people exercise, then why do so few people play soccer." I answered his fairly reasonable question by placing pressure as high on his sister’s thigh as acceptable without being completely obscene. Because she didn’t care if I was killed that night by drowning in Trivoli fountain, she lowered her head and closed her eyes every time I touched her. Brother insisted that she was ill, and implored her to make an effort to get better, on account of my last night in town.
Silly moments like that for the entire night. When we parted ways that night, the brother hugged me and said that I was a friend for life. The sister hugged me and said that it was nice to meet me. When they turned to walk away, she turned back to mouth, with lowered eyes, “I love you tonight, and I love you tomorrow.”
Warehouses come in all forms: some filled with industrial machinery, some just large areas of space where lower goods accumulate, like babies in a crib, or hospitals, or Slovakia. Some are rather organized and clean, like a department store or the human pancreas. This warehouse was clean, like a human organ beginning with “p.”
My survival skills are excellent, but I am no covert agent or Eagle Scout. I am crafty and I consume action movies with an eye to improve my proficiency with weapons. That means when a character breaks an opponent’s arm or nose, I think very carefully about the steps necessary to execute that action. I will even leave the theater to perform a dry-run of the move I just witnessed. This is a conviction for me. So I believe I can survive large mammals and cats when confronted with them in close proximity. And I did.
Without much unnecessary detail, I released tons of helium emissions into the space, after securing proper masking equipment for myself, until the ambient air reeked of helium poisoning. Helium facilities are quite clean and orderly. I’ve fielded many calls since that day concerning how helium smells in great quantities. Of course, helium is an odorless substance, unless released in great quantities, in which case it smells like a wet balloon, fresh from the package.
Within 45 minutes, 19 gorgeous, golden beasts lie asphyxiated, but calm, throughout the building. When my jailer opened the door the next day, I stood atop the largest cat, one foot up, like an explorer throwing his boot on Plymouth Rock. Or like Cortes, tossing some Spanish or Portuguese musk all over the Central American women, with aplomb. I may have been squinting a bit, not because of the bright light released upon my handiwork, but really as a way of saying, “woah there chief, don’t ask me any questions right away or give me a high five, because I am basically so erect from my multiple assassinations that I need a few minutes to just reflect.” Well, my jailer was most displeased.
As part of the society I was about to join by demonstrating my loyalty through exposure to mortal harm, I would have significant responsibilities in facilitating the transfer of illicit and exotic cargo. News to me. I thought I was joining a group of para-military mercenaries, hired to do this or that nefarious work in Paraguay for corporate and state clients. So when I was directly responsible for the destruction of product worth $1.3 million, the top brass had some questions.
But I didn’t get to hear those questions because I immediately began to imagine the girl I dated my last night in Rome four years ago, who was from Paraguay. I was living in Rome for the summer after a term at Oxford University. I wrote 24 eight-page papers in a period of 16 weeks while at Oxford, so during that summer in Rome all I wanted to do was drink, sleep, and possibly sleep with many women.
I was 21. The closest I ever got to sleeping with many women that summer was sharing a bed with a 29 year old from Norway who stated at the beginning of the night, “I will flirt with you tonight, but you will not have my body.” They are very direct that way. I didn’t even get to place my arm around her stomach, even though we slept front to back. It was an enragingly erotic experience, if I didn’t pass out within 14 seconds of lying down. And she wore my t-shirt from the movie Star Trek: IV. So I win.
The girl from Paraguay grabbed my leg under the table, while her brother talked about soccer on the other side of the table and frequently asked me if people liked to exercise in America. She was 17, and perhaps by chance or by scheming, made it perfectly known that she was a virgin, once removed.
In every story she told, she used the word love. Then she looked at me. And then I looked at her brother who asked, “but if people exercise, then why do so few people play soccer." I answered his fairly reasonable question by placing pressure as high on his sister’s thigh as acceptable without being completely obscene. Because she didn’t care if I was killed that night by drowning in Trivoli fountain, she lowered her head and closed her eyes every time I touched her. Brother insisted that she was ill, and implored her to make an effort to get better, on account of my last night in town.
Silly moments like that for the entire night. When we parted ways that night, the brother hugged me and said that I was a friend for life. The sister hugged me and said that it was nice to meet me. When they turned to walk away, she turned back to mouth, with lowered eyes, “I love you tonight, and I love you tomorrow.”