I fake a grin. “What a world we live in.”
“The best. ¡Bienvenidos a Peru!” Marcello leans in and snorts a huge line. “Figlio di puttana!” He clutches his chair as his eyes lurch to the back of his head like he’s doing a 2,000 volt galvanic shuffle, then goes catatonic.
Should I flee now? Maybe scoot my chair over just a bit for a head start?
He’s trapped in his own world until the squeak of the chair on the floor wakes him and he switches gears. “I know you assholes. You cocky fucks strutting in here from the safety of your first-world bunkers.”
“Bunkers?”
“Bunkers!” He lifts his arms and sneers. “Just smart enough to know you can’t do a shit-ass thing without your fucking technologies.”
He throws his cell phone like a baseball, smashing it against the wall as he stands up. “So you live your life like a helpless, little shitty mouse. Frightened.”
“That’s not me.”
He waves me off. “Yes, it is, Mister Shit Mouse. You shitty assholes have come and gone through here since forever. That’s what you are. A revolving door of frightened mouse assholes. Shitting all over themselves!”
He’s too close to that big knife in the gourd to make a run for it.
“And the older you get, the less comfortable you feel about your shitty little lives.”
I unfold my arms and shrug. “You’ve got me.”
“So whatcha waiting for, Mister Shit Mouse? What’s your end game?”
Fear-ridden, I force a smile. “You’re so smart. You tell me.” Stupid to provoke him, but I only need to get out that damn door.
“You?”
“Yes. Me.”
Marcello looks pensive for a second. “All right, Mister Shit Mouse.” He scoots over and stares at me, pointing his joint at my pineal gland.
“You’re easy. You’ll die all alone, trapped in some smelly old folks home. Bored to a passionless death from watching nonstop shitcom hell. Your last breath inhaling the full stench of shit piling out of your bed pan that hasn’t been changed for days because your beat-off death grip broke the nurse’s call button.”
He twirls his joint hand, making circles in front of my eyes. “Your last batshit-crazy thought is a lifetime’s worth of regret from your wasted, frightened, and shitty life.”
My eyes dart to the exit, then back at him. Does he know that I know? Is it drugs? Madness? Something worse?
He stammers something in Italian, then laughs. “You’ll enjoy this trip. Someone with your mind.”
My mind? A nervous laugh trickles from my mouth. Be strong.
I manage a weak smile. Marcello gesticulates, excitedly, like we’re old friends. “Three-fifty. That’ll be for three nights down the river and the Ayahuasca ceremony.”
It’s my play. I furrow my eyebrows. The tinny chimes fill the silence. Finally, I relent, forced to decide on a non-decision. “Okay.”
Marcello gives a strong thumbs up, then looks me up and down. “Aye, Mister Mouse. First, we’ll have to get to you on the Ayahuasca diet.”
He cleverly produces a badly handwritten note from his shirt pocket, passes it to me, and then groans out another huge line of coke.
It’s a list:
‘Absolutely NO Alcohol! NO Red meat! NO Drugs! NO Marijuana! NO Dairy! NO salt! NO avocado onions! NO sex! NO non-fresh fish! NO artificial sweeteners! NO sugar! NO coffee! NO medications! NO banana spices!’
Then down below:
‘FOR TWO WEEKS!’
My jaw drops as my legs shoot up from the chair. I look up from the note at Marcello. “No alcohol and coffee for two weeks? That’s insane!”
Marcello’s stuck to his chair, eyes rolled all the way up, locked in a gaze at the ceiling. Is he even breathing?
I want to make a dash for it, but I’m curious. With baby steps, I tiptoe over, quietly waving my hand in front of his face. Nothing.
And that’s when the half-naked dwarf in the Dancing Devil mask comes running at me with a big butcher’s knife.
A bit scary. Especially the part about going without coffee for two weeks.😉
"And that’s when the half-naked dwarf in the Dancing Devil mask comes running at me with a big butcher’s knife."
I had to wipe tears away and steady my breathing before I could report this is the funniest thing I have read in years... Thanks