Iris

green, red, and orange spilled out, making a dull mauve ambient light.

'Hiya, Megalops! Who's your buddy?' There was a bearded fat man seated on stairs that rose into the darkness.

The cassock-clad man brushed past him. 'Fuck'um,' he muttered, making a quick masturbatory gesture with his hand. The fat man pinched at his asscheek in response, but the other retreated wordlessly and was gone.

The fat man grinned. 'Horace,' he said, holding out his hand. Brendan said, 'Ah . . . Megalops there says only homos use names.'

'Megalops is an asshole. He just doesn't like being a homo.'

'Sealock.' Brendan shook the proffered hand.

The man nodded and answered with a heavily agglutinated 'Pleastameecha.' Brendan swayed slowly, his head describing an imitation Draysonian cycle. He realized that he was either feeling faint or on the verge of falling asleep. 'How do I go about getting a room here?' Horace looked bemused. 'I dunno.' He took out a little black cigar and lit it with a brightly glowing sparkstick. It smelled like cabbage farts and Sealock's sway grew in amplitude. 'Hey, kid, don't fall down here. You're too big for me to lug out of the way.'

'How . . .'

'Just go up the stairs until you find an empty room. Lie down on the bed. No one'll care.' The haze growing to a palpable miasma, Brendan slowly trudged upward, lost in himself, his feet feeling unaccountably massive. On one landing he came upon a young woman clad in a heavy sweat shirt and nothing else. On seeing him, she winked. He nodded politely and went on. Somehow, he found that empty room and fell heavily, face down across the bed, unable to draw in his feet. The light bulb in the lamp was fuchsia, in perfect tune with the bilious dizziness that assailed him. His last conscious thought was, What the hell is this place?

When he awoke in the morning he hadn't moved and he mill felt tired. His eyes were sore and the muscles of his neck ached. His legs hurt. . . . Good God, my feet! He tried to hook one toe against the opposing heel and push off a boot but lacked the strength. His whole body felt swollen. There was a warm weight against one side and a lighter pressure against his back.

He laboriously turned his head and looked. The hallway girl. She was curled up against him, one arm thrown over his back, and her crotch was hooked over his hip. His belt was wet and at first he thought she'd pissed on him, but there wasn't enough dampness for that. When he stirred, she awoke and looked up at his face through puffy eyelids. 'This is my room,' she said. Her voice was soft and had that same rasp that seemed to afflict everyone here.

'Sorry.'

She smiled. ' 'sOK.' She helped him as he rolled laboriously over onto his back. 'How you feelin'?' She sat up and swung astride him, sitting on his stomach. He couldn't help but stare down at her damp, matted brown pubic hair.

'Don't know. Hungry, I guess.'

She grinned and, swarming up his chest, thrust her groin against his face. 'Help yourself!' Brendan's stomach heaved.

She pulled back a little and said, 'What'sa matter?' Aggrieved tones. 'C'mon. I don't smell that bad!' Brendan shook his head slowly. 'I don't feel good.' He could hardly move his arms. She got off his chest and squatted beside him, inadvertently sitting on his hand.

'OK. I got a pizza someplace. You want some of that?'

Brendan tried to answer, but a black thunderbolt struck at him out of nowhere and he went back to sleep.

When he awoke again, it was night; at least, it was dark outside. The girl was sitting at a little table on the far side of the room. A plasma screen was leaning against the wall and she had an ancient Dvorak keyboard CPU opened in front of her. She had a small electron beam torch in one hand, sparkling bright blue as she made connections. She still didn't have any pants on. This time he managed to kick his boots off. They thumped on the floor.

She looked up and, seeing that he was awake, stood up and walked over. 'Feelin' better?' He nodded. 'I guess so.'

'Good!' She sat astride his chest again and her hair, now dry and crisp, tickled his nose. Oh, well ... it couldn't taste any worse than the inside of his mouth. He extended his tongue, but her hip muscles did most of the work.

When she was done, she slid down on him, lying atop his body. She kissed him, licked his face, hugged him. She undid his belt and helped him struggle out of his clothes. When he was naked, she stared. 'Wow! You gotta lotta muscles, don'cha?' A sniff. 'Haven't had a bath lately, either.'