Wednesday, April 18, 2018


Chrissie's eyes glaze over themselves. she licks her lips at this unexpected fortune.

Chrissie: what's going on here? why is it that you two are fused at the hip? like you can't discuss one without the other. you two are never separate entities.

Roger: oh no. not him. he's on my hip. please, no talk of hip fusing, that's down the line of my surgery bucket list if my latest back folds like a brown paperbag.

Chrissie: how did he know which room we were in? should i answer him back?

Roger: i've been through this before. it's no use hiding. he's a mad dog when it comes to his sniffing. he'll locate you eventually. his knees eventually will recover and he'll be able to run again.

Chrissie starts to push her finger down. before she can activate the key Nadal is at their door, still eating the half-banana, and crying.

Nadal: i found you, my love.

Chrissie: *blushing* thank you. don't mind me i'm naked.

Nadal: not you. though i was taught to respect my elders. my legends i mean. Roger, we really need to stop meeting like this. we need to hash things out once and for all. the frequent miles are killing my black bank account.

Roger: i'm not in love with you! stop following me!

Nadal: but it's fate we were thrown together at such an early age. you wouldn't be who you are today without me. and, how you say in English?, vice-versa.

Roger: i dunno but it's wrong. i think it's vi-SA versa though i always found it strange to pronounce vice like vi-SA.

Nadal: i have my visa. you can learn to love me. just like you learned how to come to net finally. forget these women, womens are crazy.

Chrissie: i'm standing right here. but it's true. well you're already here so you might as well come in. don't get on the bed, i don't want to mess it up. we fuck standing up. would you like to order with us some room service before? some menage munchies?

Nadal: please. i must bed. i must let my knees rest.

Chrissie: you know now that i get a good look at you as my eyes adjust to the newly-on lights, you don't quite cut as impressive a figure as on tv. the muscles seem to have been that state where the balloon deflates to a point where it can't be popped anymore? it's tough to describe. it's like you have rather spindly boring legs, legs which bore holes, and an awkward and gangly frame like a wedge of watermelon. your spine is bifurcated into rods, as if you rest on your backbone. your head looks like it could swivel around. your arms are coils and your feet are on rollers. your profile from the side looks like your nose is a carrot. as you stand there on the rug with your arms in triumph, you appear to be a kind of silly scarecrow Walt Disney would draw in his early days, presumably when he was still drinking.

Nadal: that is the hottest pick-up line i've ever heard. are you an Artist? the girls in Valencia don't speak like that. they do with much candor but i can never understand what they're saying, they're always whispering and giggling.

Chrissie: good. i hope you feel better. why were you crying earlier?

Nadal: oh. i was just thinking about the end of Adventure Time. that will be the saddest day in the world. that is my favorite cartoon.

Nadal begins to sing. his broken English disappears when he sings, it's just English:

Nadal: *tearing up around his nose* come away with the butterflies and bees......and then the rest of the song in the end-credits no one ever saw. i once got stung on the nose by a butterfly on the court. that's why i stay WAY back behind the baseline.

Chrissie: where's that room service!?

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