“This is really about my wife,” said the man with the parasite gnawing on his skull.
“I’ll let her explain.”
John, Amy, and I exchanged glances, none of us quite sure what to do.
Cover of ‘If This Book Exists, You’re in the Wrong Universe’.St. Martin’s Press
The parasite made soft grinding noises like an inmate surreptitiously sawing through prison bars.
It was chewing away more of his skull, I guessit had already made quite a hole up there.
It kind of looked like somebody had glued half a dozen fat centipedes to one of Prince’s codpieces.
Amy finally broke the silence, bless her.
“I’m sorry, can you explain why the police brought you here, again?”
In general, I’m not sure either we or the apartment made for a reassuring first impression.
Only two of the four kitchen chairs matched.
Below it was a pair of denim shorts that were too small.
“Weren’t you listening?”
said the guy, suddenly exasperated.
“Why does nobody listen?
We waited for an hour for a table.
I sit down, we both order, the waitress brings my food but nothing for Eve.
I demanded to talk to a manager.
He comes over and does the same, won’t even look at her.
Right, honey?”
He glanced to the empty chair, then nodded in confirmation.
“Right,” he continued.
“So, at this point, I’ll admit I got a little agitated.
Some words were exchanged.
Like they think it’s funny.
They take us to the hospital for some damned reason; that was a total waste of time.
I talk to a doctor and the doctor turns around and calls the cops again.
Nobody will give me a straight answer, like everybody’s in on the joke but us.
The cops finally bring me here and tell me to do whatever you say.
They actually giggled as they drove off.
The finger was pointed right back at him, wobbling slightly as it hovered in the center.
I said, “Oh, that’s John.
My name is David.
“We work with the police sometimes,” finished Amy.
Well, that was definitely one way to put it.
